


They Seek Him Here, They Seek Him There

by beederiffic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternative Universe - The Scarlet Pimpernel, Always Human Castiel, Betrayal, Bonding, M/M, Omega Dean Winchester, Secret Identity, Secretly-Badass Castiel, Secrets, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22787293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beederiffic/pseuds/beederiffic
Summary: A Supernatural/Scarlet Pimpernel Alpha/Omega AU:Dean was caught by a sudden change to the law on unmated omegas, unable to leave Kansas, taken by force to a private processing center. A small group of masked rebels breaks him out and the guy who's there to help at the other end turns out to be his mate.Dean loves Castiel in his own way, because he's sweet and respectful and kind to Dean, plus awesome at the sex, but Dean can't help wishing that Cas could be a little (okay, a lot) less boring and more like the alpha who's breaking omegas out of processing centers with his merry band of betas, evading the law each time – The vigilante Shadow Wing, who leaves a black feather as a calling card every time he manages to vanish along with valuable omegas who'd been held under the guardianship of the state. The vigilante that District Attorney MacLeod is trying to blackmail Dean into helping him catch, using Dean's brother Sam as bait.Weekly posting with a 2-chapter buffer.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 54
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

His mouth and throat felt like he'd been gargling broken glass by the time the truck pulled up and someone let them out. During the long, hot journey, Dean only stopped hammering on the truck's sides and shouting for their rescuers to let him out once three of the sixteen other omegas in with him wrestled him to the floor and demanded that he shut his stupid pie hole before he got them all caught. 

He wasn't sure what date it was, but it was high summer, and the heat in the truck was making them all woozy and irritable. There was no water, no food, just a few empty crates inside. Dean's hands were aching after pounding on the metal truck for so long, his vocal cords dry and painful, his lips cracking. Too dehydrated for tears of panic, though they wanted to come. They'd been in there for what seemed like hours, that after miles across fields with no respite from the glaring sun, no water, an unknown alpha and two betas protecting and leading them to where the truck was waiting for them, engine running. Having to alternatively coax and threaten the exhausted omegas into motion. Dean threatened to punch the tallest one in the face as the guy tried to get Dean moving with the group as he paused a minute to catch his breath and beg to be taken back. He'd pleaded, he'd shouted, he'd offered to blow whoever. 

Nobody listened. They'd dragged him along every time he tried to double back alone.

Every one of them fell silent and motionless inside the delivery truck as it pulled to a stop. Dean's pulse was speeding too loud in the silence as the truck's engine was killed, the driver's door opening and slamming shut making them all jump. There was a couple of shouts outside before there were car doors slamming, sudden footsteps, lots of them. Someone outside pulled open the doors at the back of the truck, nowhere to hide as the omegas inside clutched at each other in fear and blinked into the sudden flood of light. Dean, too, clutching a stranger, praying to a god he didn't believe in. If they were caught, they were dead, or as good as. Simple as that. He was too tired, weak and thirsty to run or fight any more. He'd tried to stay alive for Sam. His best hadn't been good enough.

“Everybody out of the truck, please, one at a time. You're safe and across the border.” It was a kind voice, deep and rough with enough Alpha in it that all the omegas stumbled to their feet and looked at each other. Dean and his partner weren't dumb and kept curled together at the back, both of them shivering despite the heat as they struggled up. “Welcome to Colorado.”

Dean could see the girl he was gripping making a face in the semi-darkness. Her voice was a cracked hiss,

“What do you reckon, Empire or Alliance?”

Dean smothered his first response, which was to laugh, although there was precisely jack in his life to laugh about. “I dunno. If they're Empire, at least they won't be able to aim for shit when they're shooting at us.”

“Aww, fucknuggets.” The girl let out a huff that was more irritated than afraid, her sunburn glowing painfully through the dim light. “If we're caught after they made me _jog_ through _nature_ , heads will roll. I swear to Roddenbury I've got a tick on my right labia majora. Stupid frickin' shorts.”

“I'd offer to check for you, but I don't think now's the time.”

The girl grinned at him, an edge of hysteria to it, her hands on his shirt shaking. “Way to have a bro's back, dude. If we survive this, best friends for life?”

They watched one of their fellow omegas climb shakily out of the truck, another shuffling forward to peer outside cautiously, a hand appearing in the door to help them down. 

“Sure.” Dean took her hand in his and started to move towards the doors, each step a physical challenge, his head swimming as he pulled her along with him. No point delaying the inevitable, and he couldn't keep standing for much longer. “If not, at least we found someone to share the untold agony of our last few seconds with.”

“Hey.” The girl was quivering so hard she could barely keep upright, so Dean pulled her against him so she could lean on his arm, making his knees wobble. “Always nice to meet a fellow optimist. I'm Charlie.”

“Dean. You wanna go first, or watch me go to check it's safe? I don't mind.” 

He couldn't see how his chances of survival were to go up or down depending on the order they exited the truck. He had to get out into the air, Dean could feel himself swaying on his feet, the heat and lack of water pushing him close to passing out. But she was so much smaller than him, this had to be tougher on her. She closed her eyes and took a breath, obviously trying to settle how hard she was trembling. 

“If you're down with red-shirting yourself on my behalf, I vow to avenge your sacrifice. Or, y'know, at least try to vaguely remember you once summer hits again and it's hot as ass and I'll be all, hey, remember that guy that one time? He was kinda cool.”

“You two back there, sorry but we've got to get moving. There're people out here to help.”

It was a different voice this time. They were the only ones left. There hadn't been any screams or sounds of distress from outside, a few scuffling noises and low voices but nothing that sounded like a fight or anyone being restrained. No gunshots. Dean was so dried out he couldn't smell much, but the scents reaching his brain were okay, nothing bitter, no pain, with a faint wisp of something awe-inspiring that was making him feel like he might break down in tears. If he could. He squeezed Charlie's hand. 

“I'm gonna go for it. Good luck.”

“And don't fuck it up.” Charlie glanced at him. “Sorry. I tend to blurt random pop culture references when I'm about to actually shit myself to death in terror.”

“We'll be okay.” He shook her hand until she looked at him again, and managed to smile, his lips cracking painfully. “It can't be worse than what we left. It literally cannot be worse. Yeah?”

She let out a shuddery sigh. “Yeah. Thanks. 'Bye, Dave.”

“Dean.”

She looked like she'd be in tears if they had any water left in their bodies, her voice quavering. “I know, dude, I'm busting your tiny balls.”

He brought her hand up, held it to his cheek briefly, then let it fall away as he turned squinting into the sunlight coming from the open doors. It was late in the afternoon, the light glowing deep yellow, a hand reaching up to him from outside and another waft of that scent, stronger, almost indescribable but instantly, boundlessly calming. It told him he was safe. It promised.

“Let me help you down. Careful, there's quite a step. You must be exhausted.”

Dean took the hand and looked down into a pair of eyes like the summer skies back home when he'd been a kid – everything hitting him hard, clouding his senses – and promptly fainted.

–

Castiel caught the man almost by accident, a somewhat snide voice noting beside him, 

“What the fuck, they're actually swooning into your arms now? Figures.”

The instinct to pull the lax body to him and never let him go had Castiel rocking back on his feet, a rush of hormones setting light to his blood. Luke stepped up to help but backed away with his eyebrows and hands raised as a growl erupted from deep inside Castiel's chest. 

“Alright, resticle your testicles. I thought you were about to drop him.”

“I can't . . . Sorry. Take over.”

Castiel started to carry the man away from the truck, Gabe following him as Luke stepped up behind them to help their last rescue, every step a struggle as the instinct to bury his nose in the man's neck and fill his lungs with scent made him half drunk. The man in his arms was completely out, head lolling, forehead, nose and cheeks painfully red with sunburn, body big and heavily built for an omega. The processing center's thin t-shirt and shorts were bone dry, meaning the man stopped sweating some time ago, probably dangerously dehydrated. Gabe took him firmly by the elbow, ignoring Castiel's desperate rumble of warning.

“Quit flashing your teeth at me, I'm not trying to take your damsel away. I'm trying to point you at my car.”

“Mine's this way.”

“You're in no state to drive.”

“Have to get him home . . .”

It took Gabe leaning his full weight into Castiel's side to get him to change direction. “So. You've been driving like a lunatic for hours because, on some level, you realized your mate was in the back of the truck. No wonder you've been such a gigantic raging shit-wagon all the way back. You might want to avoid Raph for a few days.”

“He's not my –” Castiel came to a sudden halt, fingers tightening on the heavy body in his arms. Looking down into the sunburned face, recalling the clear green of the man's eyes as they'd looked into his own for too brief a moment before rolling upwards into unconsciousness. “He can't be. No. No, that'd be –”

“Extremely convenient!” Gabe gave him a double thumbs-up.

“Too much of a coincidence. It's not possible. For a start, he's male. I've never been emotionally attracted to another man.”

Gabriel snickered to himself, pushing Castiel back into motion towards the car. “Whatever you say, Chief.”

–

It was daylight outside, but the room was dark, light filtering through navy blue drapes. Dean couldn't work up the effort to open his eyes more than a crack, so he closed them again, his head fuzzy, whatever he was lying on way more comfortable than the bunks in the center. He drifted a moment, his lips painful when he opened them to try to wet his lips as he finally registered a soft gliding touch on his forearm. Pains started to come back to him, his head starting to thump, his throat and mouth still too dried out, the skin on his face, the back of his neck, the tips of his ears and his forearms stinging with burns from their hours in the sun, but someone was gently applying some kind of cooling liquid to his arm and it was calming the burn there.

Wait.

They'd been in the sun for hours. The hours in the back of the truck. When? He'd been pulled out of the center – it felt like rising to the surface after diving down too deep while swimming. Dean struggled his way back into consciousness, barely able to hear his own words as he croaked out, 

“No, no, please, I have to . . . Sam.”

Someone was stroking through his hair, making soothing noises, someone with a scent to them that meant something, but Dean was too busy trying to gather the strength first to sit up, to fight his way out of there. 

“Calm down, you're safe. It's okay.”

Dean was whimpering under his breath. His eyesight was getting less blurry, more used to the lack of light, and the figure in shadow sitting next to Dean wasn't so big or strong-looking for an alpha. The man was touching him, hushing him, stroking over his arms as Dean tried to push them away. He was too weak, his muscles wouldn't obey, his senses reeling from a scent that felt like it was pouring into his lungs and filling them, like there was no room for air, like he couldn't breathe, shit, he couldn't breathe – 

“Dean. Settle down.” The man's hands closed around Dean's wrists and held onto them. “I need you to stop thrashing and to push out as much breath as you can before you try to inhale again.”

The hint of Alpha in the voice shot directly to Dean's hind-brain and his struggles stopped, his pulse beginning to slow its frantic calypso as he automatically did as commanded, pushing out the air in his lungs as hard as he could manage, before noticing it allowed him to take in a gasp of fresh air with his next breath. He let himself breathe, just breathe, making sure he continued to expel all the air he could each time, the alpha on the bed next to him rubbing up and down Dean's arm with one hand and humming in approval. 

“That's it, that's good, keep breathing, nice and steady. You're safe and I'm here, I won't leave you.”

Somewhere at the back of Dean's mind, he recognized the voice in its depth and rough tone, and that scent, it was making him feel dizzy and as if he was going to cry for some reason. Dean opened his mouth to beg to be allowed to leave, to demand it, to debase himself and weep at the alpha's feet until they let him return, but he couldn't make the words come, his throat clogging around them.

What came out of his mouth, instead, a harsh, voiceless whisper, was _'Mate.'_

The hand on his arm halted. “Yes, Dean. I'm Castiel. Your mate.”

“No.” Dean shook his head, because he'd never imagined it would actually happen, and everything was wrong. “I can't be mated, I have to go back.”

“You can't go back.”

“Are we,” Dean tried to swallow. “Physically mated? I can't see you, need to see your face.”

“We are not, no.” There was a thread of amusement in the guy's voice. “I wouldn't say I'm unusually picky when it comes to sex, but I tend to prefer it with a conscious partner. Close your eyes for me. I'll turn on a lamp.”

Small glimmers of light started working through Dean's eyelashes. He was still wearing the shirt and shorts from the processing center, so nobody had stripped him down, yet, which was a good start. 

“If we're not physically mated, you can't stop me from leaving. It's the law.”

“I know. I wouldn't dream of it, I want this to be your home, not your jail cell. But I do require you to physically recover and listen to why you can't go back, and I'm led to believe you've got some way to go before we get into life and death conversations.”

“Life and death?”

“So I'm told.”

The man's eyes were blue when Dean looked at him. So blue. They were the last thing he'd seen getting out of the truck, the hand in his, that same scent – 

“Aw, nuts. This is so humiliating. I _fainted_ on you?” 

Omegas in soap operas and telenovelas passed out on meeting their mates all the time. Not that Dean spent any significant portion of his time watching soap operas. Or romantic medical dramas. Or getting damp-eyed over sappy Netflix Alpha/omega movies. 

“I have a feeling it was more to do with heatstroke than you being overwhelmed by my sheer masculine presence.”

The alpha was handsome. No, Dean's alpha was _gorgeous_ , those eyes alone in the way they were looking at Dean, his cheekbones, the mouth with that soft smile, his dark hair. A day or two of stubble. His alpha was gorgeous and his scent was everything, Dean's blood started buzzing with it, like he was drugged or drunk, happy and warm, needy but satisfied at the same time. Too exhausted to do anything but lie there and let it all wash over him. The idea of leaving that scent and never having it on him again, of trying to walk away and not see that face or have that mouth smiling at him, or the weight of a hand on his back in a touch he needed, physically, like oxygen . . . 

“C'mon, I asked you to breathe. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I'm sorry, Alpha, but the hell is this? Because if we're not physically mated, you have no legal right to drug me.” Dean noticed a drip in his lower arm, taped to the skin, and he reached out to tear at it, struggling uselessly against his alpha's hand as it grabbed his. Shit, he felt weaker than a baby. A lazy baby that didn't give a crap about its physical health. Babies were the worst.

“My name's Castiel, not Alpha, and you need to let the drip alone. It's saline and glucose only, re-hydrating you, that's it, I promise. There's no other medication. I wasn't taking liberties, I was following a doctor's advice.”

“I can't trust there's nothing else in it.” He tried to pull his wrists away and failed, too weak. “I can't.” 

They'd made them take pills at the processing center. Dean refused to take his until they told him what was in them, but instead he'd been held down for painful daily injections that left deep bruising all over his butt cheeks, tearing his paper-thin shorts down or off wherever they'd corner him, the needles looking halfway as long as his arm. He'd eventually surrendered and started taking the pills every morning, exhausted after days of being unable to sit or lie down without discomfort.

“I understand, which is why I have to make it a command. Allow the drip to do its work, Dean. I'm sorry. I know this is a lot to take in. Trust me, I'm well aware. I've only had a day's head start on you with the whole mates thing.”

Dean stopped looking down at his lap where his useless, Alpha-obeying hands had given up on the drip, and he lifted his head, studying Castiel's eyes. “You didn't know? I find that hard to believe.”

“That you were my mate? Before I saw you? No. How could I?”

“That's not why you took me?”

A wrinkle appeared between Castiel's eyebrows. “I didn't – that wasn't – no, I didn't know. Not until I got you home.”

“I have to go back. I can't stay here.”

“You can't go back. The lives of other omegas may depend on it.”

“But my brother –”

“Is not, I'm assuming, an omega at risk.” Male omegas were unusual enough that the chance of a single family having two as siblings was close to impossible. “At this moment in time, neither are you, so long as you give yourself time to rest, hydrate and recover.” Castiel lifted one hand, brushing the backs of his knuckles across Dean's cheekbones beneath one eye, all gentleness, so much so that Dean didn't flinch away from the touch. “This conversation is tiring you out, which is what I was worried about. Get some sleep. We'll talk later.”

“I can't, I mean, I'm okay, I can get out of bed. I need to get back on my feet.”

“I hate to do this before we've so much as kissed, but it wasn't a request. You will stay in bed until you reach a satisfactory level of physical recovery. This is temporary, for a day or two until you're feeling stronger. Then I swear to you I'll stop commanding you and respect that you're more than capable of making your own decisions. However, I'm certain you're not currently able to, and I have no choice but to prioritize your wellbeing. I'm sorry.”

Dean was fast remembering why he'd never held out hope for an alpha mate. He'd never been any good at taking orders and always resented his inability to override his body's physical submission no matter how hard his mind would rage against it. The whole thing was bullshit, the human race had more than enough members already so overpowering biological mating imperatives could and should go straight to hell.

“Quit apologizing. It is what it is, I guess. Are you leaving?” 

A big part of Dean desperately didn't want him to, a flutter of anxiety in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his alpha so much as leaving the room, but he didn't feel he had the right to ask after insisting he was going to be gone the second he could get out of bed. There was little more emotionally brutal a person could do to another than reject them as a mate once everyone's physiology started humming along and pushing for a bond. Maybe he was sicker than he thought, all this neediness even though he knew he wasn't going to stay any longer than he had to. The idea that he could stand up and walk out of there seemed like a distant goal, something like the concept of graduation on the day you start school.

“I can't leave.” Castiel looked a little embarrassed. “I barely made it through the bedroom door to the bathroom in time to relieve myself earlier. The instinctual drive to remain close has been far stronger than I'd imagined it could be. I've been sitting over in that chair all night.”

“Watching me sleep?” Castiel nodded. “Creepy.” 

Castiel shrugged and nodded again as if he absolutely agreed. But it was a big bed, huge, in fact, more than enough room for three grown adults with room to spare, and there'd been nothing to stop Castiel from joining an unconscious Dean on the bed and taking just as much advantage as he'd wanted to. That it seemed like he hadn't said something for him, even though he remained an unknown threat. 

Fatigue was taking Dean over, his gritty eyes drooping closed for longer periods than he could hold them open. 

“Dammit, I gotta sleep. You swear to me you won't touch me or do anything that'll prevent me from leaving once I'm up?”

Castiel's voice sounded sad as he replied, but at least his words were a small comfort.

“I swear to you that I won't, and wouldn't. I just need to see that you get well. It feels like it's not even a choice I'm making. Please try to understand that I _have_ to see it done.”

“Okay.” Dean let his eyes close. Well, more like he quit fighting the inevitable. “But don't touch me, or I can and will consider removing various body parts of yours once I'm back on my feet.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. You're safe here. Sleep well, Dean.”

A moment before the darkness fully claimed him once more, it occurred to Dean that he had no idea how this Castiel even knew his name, and that it didn't make any sense at all how he did.

–

Castiel woke from a half-waking, half-dreaming state, registering the buzzing of his private cellphone, his trusty, ancient brick-like Nokia, at the same time his back complained at his napping in what he'd once thought was a comfortable chair. He answered it, checking over at the bed to make sure it hadn't woken the sleeping figure lying there under his sheets, still hooked to a drip. 

“Report.”

_“What's that? 'A thousand apologies, Raphael, for acting like the worst cliched knothead the entire time you were risking your neck illegally rescuing my mate from the clutches of evil'? Apology accepted.”_

Castiel grunted into the phone and tried to rub a little life back into his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Yeah. Sorry.”

_“Is he there? Are you with him?”_

“Yes.” Castiel kept his voice low. It was unlikely Dean would wake again any time soon, his system exhausted beyond capacity, but Castiel wished he had the strength to leave the room and talk to Raph in the security of his soundproofed office. No such luck. “He's sleeping.”

_“But you have to be careful and can't speak freely.”_

“Exactly.”

_“Okay, then I'll keep this brief. I think Luke already let you know that the other omegas seem to be recovering from the journey and are settling in?”_

“Yes.” He should probably say more, considering how scathing he'd been over the indirect and overly-cautious route Michael, Luke and Raph had taken the omegas on towards their meeting point. “Good work. Well done.”

_“Stop, such flattery, you'll make me faint.”_

“I imagined you must've heard about that.”

_“Luke's simply pissed off he didn't get it on camera to torture you with at a later date.”_

“I thought we were keeping this brief . . .”

_“There's been no local law interest thus far and the truck's been disposed of. We've confirmed that your mate is definitely Dean Winchester, brother of Sam Winchester, our contact in Sacramento. Sam hasn't been seen in work for eight days and isn't answering calls or checking his messages. He's really your mate?”_

Castiel couldn't stop a sigh escaping. “Yes.”

_“Well, shit.”_

“Quite.”

 _“. . . If you're mated, it'll make keeping an eye on him simple enough. At least he couldn't do much more damage without us knowing about it.”_ A growl escaped Castiel's throat unbidden, Dean shifting in the bed in unconscious response. Raph chuckled down the phone. _“Calm down, I'm not insulting your mate. This is trouble we already knew about. Gabe said it was hitting you hard.”_

Castiel allowed his silence to speak for him. Dean shifted against the sheets again, and the need to reach out to him hit such a peak Castiel could've gnawed off his fingers in frustration. He settled on chewing at a hangnail and frowning over at the bed. Dean's sunburn looked furiously red and painful, requiring more of the soothing ointment the doctor prescribed, but Castiel promised not to touch him. 

_“I suppose we won't be seeing you for a week or two.”_

“Don't know. Possibly.”

_“Then we'll keep making inquiries about Sam and planning the approach into Topeka. We need more numbers as it is, a little more time to get organized is not going to hurt. You be careful what you say around him, though. If he's anything like Sam, he's got to be smart. Oh, and Cassie?”_

“What?” It was testy, because Castiel wanted to end the call and concentrate every atom of attention on his injured mate, as if he could will Dean into recovery simply by desiring it.

_“Allow yourself to enjoy it and him. It's not every day someone's lucky enough to meet their mate, whoever they turn out to be. And, however smart he is, a captive and medicated omega wasn't in any position to go toe-to-toe with Crowley. Let yourself love –”_

Castiel rolled his eyes and closed out the call with a press of his thumb, letting the phone drop into his lap. They were all going to be unbearable when he next saw them. Unless, of course, Dean followed through on his threat to leave, in which case Castiel would be relying on them to help him simply keep breathing in and out until the pain became anything like manageable. 

He raised his eyes to the bed once more, his heart thumping hard in his chest as he traced the lines of Dean's body beneath the sheet, flaring his nose and taking Dean's vivid scent in deep. _Mate_ , it said. _I'll be yours, always._ It beguiled and captivated him, swearing that the man in his bed was everything, Castiel's future world and beyond, someone to care for him fierce and wild and to be his equal in every manner possible. Someone strong enough to share his secrets.

It lied. Because the man Castiel was watching sleep was also the man who'd betrayed a family under Castiel's protection, causing the loss of their teenage daughter, whereabouts currently unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a country where unmated omegas are generally accepted to be a threat to family life and therefore to the fabric of society as a whole, (for what Alpha could be reasonably be expected to control themselves around a figure clearly presenting itself as being there for the taking?) the rise of the conservative right has coincided with the introduction of a number of laws limiting the freedoms of unmated omegas.
> 
> Several red states have gone beyond what liberals consider to be constitutional, first imposing evening curfews on unmated omegas, developing into a policed order that omegas are not permitted to move freely in public without their nominated alpha, usually a parent or sibling, a state-nominated guardian if not, and then only for very specific reasons, such as for medical assistance or over legal matters that cannot be avoided. Unmated omegas in those states were no longer permitted to work, to drive, to move beyond their state's borders without official approval, or to vote. Mated omegas in conservative states are only do so with their Alphas permission, as was the case for all omegas beyond the recent changes in law.
> 
> Two months ago, those states supported a constitutional amendment to deny the rights of omegas or their families to control the mating process, thought to have been initiated by lobbyists working on behalf of those poised to reap rich profits from administrating the changes in law. Due to the threat unsuitable matches (or, indeed, omegas remaining unmated beyond a reasonable age, in practice currently standing at eighteen) were perceived to present towards marriage, to social stability and decent, God-fearing folk, those states enforced a law overnight permitting private agencies to ameliorate the mating process, including physical incarceration and a process of health improvement for unmated omegas, who would then be primed and matched to fee-paying, appropriate Alphas without the need for the omega's consent. Thus ensuring that matches are guaranteed and pregnancies are supported within a familial setting. The near-eradication of rape, abortion (now criminalized in many states, illegal abortion operations having since become a sideline of reproductive rights clinics, if the far-right media is to be believed), divorce, single-parent families, and a resulting reduction in related costs to society such as policing and public health, is confidently expected.
> 
> Liberal and human rights groups are challenging the laws through state and federal court systems, a process which will take some time. International challenges are expected should domestic systems fail, but foreign governments are waiting on local outcomes before doing more than condemning the laws without action.


	2. Chapter 2

That Dean Winchester was a sublimely attractive specimen of manhood was doing precisely zero to help Castiel's mood. Or help him leave the apartment. Or see to a single thing that didn't involve the figure coming out from the bedroom door on unsteady feet, wearing Castiel's old college t-shirt and a pair of his sweatpants.

Another powerful wave of an overwhelming desire to pick Dean up and haul him back to Castiel's bed made Castiel grit his teeth and tighten his fingers on his coffee mug. Sitting out here to give Dean the privacy he'd requested to shower and dress was a corporeal test Castiel was determined to pass, but the ache to have Dean close by again was fast becoming physically uncomfortable. So an omega was wearing his clothes, their scents melting together to form another that spoke to Castiel of wonderful futures he'd never imagined. An omega who'd been under his roof three nights now, wary and suspicious, perhaps untrustworthy himself, full of claims that he'd be leaving Castiel the absolute second he was physically able to. 

Dean Winchester was supposed to be his mate because their endocrinological systems deemed it so, and Castiel's had been in overdrive, pumping floods of hormones into his system to the point where it seemed he'd developed a near-permanent touch of tumescence at the base of his cock. His body seemed determined to ignore that Castiel decided many years back he'd never be mated. His body didn't give a crap and was trying very hard to persuade Castiel to bury all of his parts in as many of Dean's as he possibly could.

He tightened his teeth until they creaked against the need to dig them deep into Dean's mating gland. Closed his eyes for a moment to try to drag his shattered controls back into place and to will away yet another growing erection. Allowing Dean to stay with him that long without acting on their match was pushing him too far, way beyond what any official advice recommended. But Dean was functionally homeless, surrounded by strangers, and the instinct to protect Dean and to care for him completely overwhelmed Castiel's better judgment. 

“Good morning, Dean. Your balance looks better today.”

“Yeah. Hi.” The guarded tone in Dean's was entirely understandable, given what he must've been through the past months, but it felt like it cut Castiel to the core every time Dean spoke. That his mate didn't trust him wounded him with every single reminder, no matter how many times he'd tell himself that Dean's responses made perfect logical sense and that he didn't exactly trust Dean, either. “I smelled coffee.”

“Sit, I'll fetch you a cup. How do you take it?”

Dean seemed to dither for a moment, finally looking annoyed at himself as he sat down in the chair furthest away from where Castiel was. He wasn't sure whether it was because Dean was fighting an impulse to refuse and offer to serve Castiel, instead, as any good omega mate should, or whether he was simply fighting and failing to ignore Castiel's implied command to sit down. Maybe neither. Castiel simply had no clue, with most people, let alone an unknown mate who'd spent most of their time together sleeping so heavily it could've been a coma.

“I take it black. Like my men.”

Castiel almost fumbled the mug in his hand. “Oh. Uh. Okay?”

A hint of a smile twisted Dean's mouth as he accepted the cup of coffee from Castiel's outstretched hand, careful not to touch his fingers. “I'm kidding. It's a bad joke from an old movie. But, yeah, black's great, thanks.”

The immediate swell of pride deep in his chest over providing something so insignificant as a cup of coffee to this apparent mate of his annoyed Castiel further. He resented being tied to his apartment like this, at how his mind would circle for hours around the subject of Dean and nothing else. This never-ending concern for another person was unmanageable. He had so many other responsibilities that this was keeping him from. Nevertheless, his concerns decided to jump into his mouth and out from his lips before he registered that he was about to speak. 

“Breakfast? Could you eat something?” 

Dean had barely eaten so far. He was a little too thin for his height and structure, something all of the center's omegas suffered from but that was most marked on someone Dean's size. The center had been keeping their rations meager and their bodies slender to attract a certain type of alpha, in all likeliness. It was typical, a health regime designed to ensure the state's omegas were attractive, pliant, fertile and submissive as possible. 

“Maybe. I can fix something for myself if you're okay with me poking around in your kitchen.”

“Of course. Make yourself,” _At home_ , Castiel would've said, but understood it was probably the last thing Dean wanted to hear. “Comfortable. Whatever you want, take it. I can order in if there's anything you need that's not here.”

“You got eggs?”

He nodded, and Dean pushed himself up from the table, the old t-shirt pulling tight over a chest and shoulders stronger than Castiel had seen on any omega before. Gabriel was going to find it screamingly funny that Castiel's mate was taller and broader than him, now he was on his feet. If Dean was around long enough that Gabriel got the opportunity to meet him. Castiel couldn't figure out if he wanted that or not. No, he _wanted_ that, he craved that all the way down to muscle and bone, wanted it all for good and beyond, but whether or not it was going to work out that way had yet to be seen. Regardless to the risks involved.

“Eggs are fine.” Dean picked at his coffee mug, not meeting Castiel's eyes. “I can make some for you, if you want.”

It was like walking through a minefield. Would accepting make Dean think Castiel saw him only as a potential homemaker with few prospective interests beyond keeping his alpha's appetites sated? Or would turning him down mean Castiel was rejecting any effort Dean might be making to acknowledge the potentiality of what might happen between them? Either way, the outcome did not look good. 

Once again, Castiel wished Dean's response to his offer of contacting the trauma advisor working with some of the center's other evacuees had been less abruptly dismissive. To say Castiel's people skills were out of practice was akin to calling a volcanic lava pit a tad on the toasty side. He was completely unprepared for dealing with a possible mating to an omega recovering from government-sanctioned kidnap.

Oprah, in all her emotional wisdom and patience, would be unprepared for that scenario. Castiel was hilariously, hopelessly under-qualified, to the point of absurdity.

“I've had a yogurt, so there's no need, but a small portion of whatever you make for yourself would probably see me to lunch better. If it's no trouble.”

“No trouble at all. Yogurt's not breakfast. It's barely food.”

Dean's knees gave a small waver, and Castiel managed to sit and not jump up or offer his assistance only by biting down on his tongue enough that it stung. He watched Dean make his way through to the kitchen area, the skin on the back of Dean's neck starting to peel as much as his cheeks and nose were now the sunburn had started to fade. 

“I can't get over that you live in a place like this.”

“I told you, it's not mine.”

“I know.” Dean's eyes were huge taking it all in when he'd cautiously allowed Castiel to help him out of the bedroom for the first time the day before. They'd sat in near silence for a couple of hours as Dean simply gazed out the windows at the view with watery eyes. “ I remember it's the company's, but that's even more mind-blowing, that there's jobs out there that'll pay for a place like this for their employees. Even their Chief Financial whatevers.”

Castiel looked around the place again. It was nice, he knew it, floor to ceiling windows all along one wall of the open living area with a view over the town and distant forest-covered hills, lots of light and air. Modern and easy to keep clean. “Chief Financial Officer. The company owns the building, it's an asset and tax write-off so long as it's kept occupied. Helps cut down on staff turnover and related costs, too.”

“And that's your job? Figuring out stuff like that?” Dean found the eggs and a bowl, and was busy cracking several of them on the counter and into the bowl.

“That's part of it, yes. Primarily I plan where we can spend money to save it long-term, along with assuming fiscal responsibility for growing the business and ensuring profits for our shareholders, and other legal compliance.”

“Sounds a thrill a minute.”

Castiel knew Dean was probably being sarcastic, as most people he'd met couldn't imagine a title like CFO came with anything involving a passion for the work. Again, it burned a little, coming from someone supposed to be his ideal match. 

“It's not really, no.”

“Hey, no judgment here.” 

Dean started lazily beating the eggs with a fork and a little salt. The action made his bicep bulge, and Castiel found himself despising how that uncomplicated movement seemed to have his cock warming and filling against his fly. Again. He'd fooled around with a couple of guys in his college years, but never experienced anything like this constant fixation on anyone's body before, male or female.

“Work is work, they wouldn't pay you to do it if it wasn't. I worked part-time in a hardware store 'til the law changed, and wasn't legally permitted to lift anything over twenty-five pounds due to my obviously delicate constitution. You would not believe how long some people can debate the pros and cons of stainless steel versus zinc-coated screws. Trust me, I know boring. I could help you pick out a hammer drill to help with it.”

Dean set the shallow pan he'd found on a burner, clicking to light it before turning back to Castiel, who was finding himself absolutely struck dumb by his omega, _His_ omega, speaking to him in anything other than one-word sentences. 

“And the alphas, oh, brother, the alphas. I swear the hardware store's an unofficial alpha display zone. Do you guys get sent a memo or something?”

“If we do, I think mine was lost in the mail.”

Dean paused and gave Castiel a sliver of a warm smile. He had no idea why, or what he'd done to deserve it. 

“Anyway. They'd get in there and scent one unmated omega around, and proceed to try to out-compete each other on who's the most brawny, who can lift the most, who has the biggest power tool, if you know what I'm sayin'. We had carts, flatbed carts for the heavy stuff, but no. 'Course not.” 

Dean swirled the eggs into the warmed pan, his voice deepening into a parody of gruffness. 

“'Fear me, for I am Alpha and my elephantine knot demands that I carry waaaay too much over to the cashier, but then my giant clumsy man-hands drop it all on my foot so I get my yam bag in a piss and threaten to sue if the omega doesn't get fired.' I got the blame for it every single time. Deciding on how a company like yours spends its megabucks doesn't sound too bad in comparison.”

Castiel found himself staring wordlessly at Dean for a second as Dean offered him a plate with half a perfectly golden, fluffy omelet on it. He accepted it with thanks and reminded himself to try to make conversation. “That sounds awful. They blamed you? How idiotic. I'm sorry.”

“Why? You don't need to be sorry.” Dean carried his freshened coffee and his own plate over to the dining table, his balance getting better along with his apparent energy. “Unless you're that kind of alpha.”

“No, I'm not. At least, I certainly hope not.”

“Then you're not the problem. Eat up, it'll double for linoleum if you let it go cold.”

Castiel forked up a mouthful and told Dean it was good, not lying because it was, for something so simple, buttery and light. Dean closed his eyes and ducked his head down, his system obviously rewarding him with a rush of feelgood hormones for feeding his alpha something tasty. 

Nobody had any right being that attractive. Even with the peeling nose and forehead, lips cracked and sore at the corners, Dean was astonishingly beautiful. Castiel had felt attraction to men before, certainly, had acted on it a few times, but this was so much more, as if he could happily do nothing else for hours other than look at Dean, without need or care for anything else.

“I have to ask you something.”

“Of course, Dean. Anything.”

“I'm here because I'm trusting you were opposed to the amendment. I guess it's doubtful I'd be here at all if you weren't, because why would you agree to help us out in the first place . . . You don't seem like you'd think I'm dangerous like that, out in public with all my wiles and everything. And I need to know – do you agree with what's happening? What happened to me?”

“Of course not. God, no. My firm donates to omega rights organizations and directly to the legal efforts challenging the new laws.”

“Another tax write-off?”

“Yes, but there were other causes we could've chosen to go with. I like to think I played a part in steering the firm that way. I'm actively involved in our local One Five Two opposition group, it's why I was there to assist with your arrival, we were asked to provide support.”

He hated lying to his potential mate, and Castiel knew he was horrible at it. Gabriel spent thirty minutes on the phone coaching him the first night while Dean slept, Castiel knowing that he was going to have to start lying and not stop. But the alternative didn't bear thinking about, the idea of turning his back on Dean making Castiel suddenly sick, a wave of pain at the thought of not having this person in his life, not having that scent mingling with his own so perfectly. It made his skin ache and his brain burn. 

He'd seen the impact of a mating rejection a couple of times through work, one employee returning after six weeks' compassionate leave a shadow of his former self. Haunting the halls. Eventually spiraling into addiction and siphoning off company funds until they'd been forced to let him go without references. He'd disappeared off the face of the earth not long after, and Castiel couldn't stop blaming himself for failing someone who hadn't even been a friend. 

They weren't there yet, but the bond was pushing hard to complete itself, the proximity between them already starting to merge their scents, and the idea of emotionally damaging Dean to any degree was anathema, toxic beyond belief. Castiel knew he wasn't strong enough to get through it himself if Dean chose to leave. There was too much to do, too many people needing his help. He couldn't fail anyone else, so would have to somehow suck it up and get better at the untruths, deceits and outright lies until they became second nature. If they were somehow to do this at all. If he could somehow persuade Dean to stay.

“Yeah?” Dean finished his plate, pushing it away and reaching for his coffee. “How come? Not many alphas involved in omega rights. Least, not in Kansas.”

“Omega rights are human rights – I don't want to live in a society that would deny the humanity of a person simply because of the body they were born into.” Castiel finished off his omelet, noticing again how it seemed to both satisfy and annoy Dean in equal measure, a frown intermingled with another pleased flush. Dean apparently resented the whims of his biology as much as Castiel did. “Besides, I'm not exactly what most people would call a typical alpha.”

“I guess not.” Dean's eyes flickered up and down over Castiel's face and torso, politely not commenting on how slight he was for a male alpha, something many people didn't seem to feel the need to hold back on. “It's probably why we're compatible.”

“I suppose it could be, yes.” 

“I was a late developer, if you were wondering. I'd already shot up by the time I presented.”

“And I was the opposite. I won't go into specifics over the breakfast table, but I surprised everyone by getting an unexpected knot stuck somewhere it shouldn't have been age twelve.” 

Dean snorted with humor and smiled at him, very briefly, which lit Castiel's insides up like a firework. He took a fortifying breath to calm himself and his immediate physical reaction to Dean's approval, aware he'd been enjoying their brief foray into informal communication and that he was possibly about to ruin what had been the first few minutes over the last six days where he'd been halfway able to relax and feel good. He should've been exhausted, running on hormones along with very little sleep due to the bedroom chair he was intending to burn at some point in the near future. The urge to claim Dean was rising again, and Castiel didn't know how much longer he'd be able to deny himself. Dean needed to leave, and soon, if they weren't going to mate. Which felt as if it was going to destroy Castiel. He had so many depending on him, so much more left to do. 

“Have you thought any more on what we talked about yesterday?”

Dean sighed, long and hard, pushing himself away from the table with his coffee mug, taking both empty plates with him over to the kitchen. “Not much else I can think about. Other than Sam.”

“My contacts, such as they are, haven't been able to give me any further information except that your brother's not known to be in Kansas, but doesn't appear to be at his home in California, either. I'm sorry I can't find out more.”

Dean let the dishes drop onto the kitchen counter with more force than necessary, making Castiel start. 

“Will you stop apologizing for everything. I mean, Jesus H, Cas, look at this place. You're harboring a fugitive in a freakin' palatial apartment like it's nothing, and you haven't laid a finger on me even though I'm wearing your clothes and sleeping in your bed. And,” Dean's voice faltered, dropping deeper as he hung his head and spoke to the counter. “If it's having any effect on you like it is on me, I honestly don't know how you're doing it. Unless it's because you don't want this, which would mean it's better for us both if I just . . . y'know . . . goddammit, I can't even say it.”

Immediate distress as heavy and bitter as bile started to rise in Castiel's gullet, his fingers curling themselves into the table top until they ached. “Please, don't go, don't – please –”

He paused to try to compose himself again, unsure if he could. It wasn't a surprise that Dean was to some degree affected by his closeness, he'd scented it every time Dean woke and laid eyes on Castiel across the room, hormones spiking in fear as much as in desire. It'd made keeping his hands to himself infinitely more difficult.

“Of course I want this.” He couldn't say directly how much he wanted Dean, worried that'd break whatever spell was enabling him to keep his hands to himself for even a few minutes longer. “But yesterday you said you couldn't let yourself be claimed without being sure your brother's not in danger. I cannot reassure you that he isn't, without knowing why you're worried that he might be. It might help me figure out who to ask for help.”

Dean's hands balled themselves into fists against the counter. “He was coming to visit me in Kansas. Last time we spoke, he'd booked a flight, then I got taken. I don't know where he is. Someone at the center said he might be in some kind of legal trouble, and that's all I can tell you.”

“Who told you?”

“I can't risk it. I can't. You're going to have to trust that it seems totally impossible. I don't know you, I don't know anyone here.”

“But you could tell me everything if we were mated.”

“That doesn't help, Cas.”

“It would help everything!” 

Dean's eyes shuttered themselves, his posture moving into a protective stance as he registered Castiel's shout, the alpha barely holding itself beneath the surface of Castiel's skin as it was. He'd never felt less in control. Castiel sat back down into the chair he'd thrust himself out of, trying everything he could to hold it together, his hands shaking. 

“If we're mated, you're no longer a fugitive, and they can't take you back to your home state and to another center. There's nothing you could do or say that would mean I'd have to contact the law and possibly incriminate you. You could be certain I was on your side.”

“Sure, because that exactly how every mating works out for every omega. I think we're both old enough and ugly enough to know that's not true.”

“You're not ugly. You're beautiful.” Castiel couldn't hold it back any more than he could've cut out his tongue. Dean blushed, deep and pretty, the burns fading enough for it to become apparent.

“That's nice of you to say, but not the point I was trying to make.”

“Dean . . .” Just one touch. That was all he needed right now, but it'd never be enough and immediately too much. The scent of him alone, sharp with confusion and need, was making Castiel's jaw and hands ache. “All I can do is repeat what I said yesterday. If you have to walk away,” He could barely get the words out through a clenched jaw, “I'll do what I can to find you whatever support you need, and to make sure you continue to be safe, but you can't stay here. If you remain and accept me as your mate, then I guarantee you access to funds and resources to help you locate your brother and even get him here, if that's what you want.”

“You say that, but . . . what then? You go to work and I sit around here starching your underpants and waiting on calls about Sam? I can't do that. I can't sit and wait for someone else to make sure he's okay. He's my little brother. What if he's really in trouble? You don't get it, things are crazy back home.” 

Thankfully Dean put some distance between himself and Castiel, taking his coffee over to look out at the view, taking a little of the concentrated heaven that was their mixed scents with him. 

“You don't know me. You need to understand that I'm a shitty omega. I'm not meek and yielding, I'm an asshole who'll sass and complain and make everything difficult, just ask my dad. I have no gnawing void in my heart waiting to be filled by popping out crotch goblins and haven't had a heat in years for that exact reason. And I promise you that I can't wait here with a candle at the window and a tear in my eye while my brother's out there looking for me and getting himself into God know's what kind of trouble. That's what family's about, y'know?”

“I don't. I was an only child.” Not exactly a lie, but enough of one to feel uncomfortable. Castiel shifted in his chair, trying to stretch out his hands, his back, his body beginning to ache unbearably. “I don't feel any undeniable urge to procreate, either. I'm led to believe that I can also be an asshole, if my colleagues are to be trusted, and wouldn't want a mate who'd bear that in resentful silence and never tell me if or when I crossed a line.”

Dean stared out the window some more as he drank his coffee. “That you're trying to persuade me to be your mate by telling me you're an asshole is probably the one thing you could've said towards making it happen.”

“Then, yes, I am the absolute worst and I'm sure will be a nightmare to live with.”

“Wow, hello, Prince Charming.” Dean flashed a quick grin Castiel's way. “You're kind of a smartass. Maybe we do match.”

Apparently it was working, or perhaps it was simply Castiel's own rising scent making Dean's body respond. A thin thread of arousal was snaking over to Castiel, making his body tighten and throb. He had to get through this. He'd never be the kind of alpha to lay his hands on and take, he'd rather emasculate himself with something blunt and rusty if it came to that, but the urgency was becoming blinding as all his senses started to shut down where they didn't directly involve Dean, the aches turning into cramps. His rising desperation must've provoked their proto-bond to reaching crisis point, because something was happening Castiel was certain he couldn't control.

“I wouldn't expect you to stay at home. You're an adult, do what you want. I have money, but you can work if that's what you'd like, it's legal in Colorado. If you don't want to work, then volunteer with my opposition group or something similar, I don't know. I don't have the time to help out as much as I'd like, but would s-support you in doing so if that's what you chose. You may be able to develop stronger contacts than the few I have. It might – m-might help you find your brother.”

He was curling into a ball, almost fetal, forehead hot and sweaty against the table top, arms wrapped around himself as he did whatever he could to stop himself rising from the table and reaching out to Dean. The urgency was becoming painful, his mate _right there_ , across the room, smelling of them both and so ready for him it felt like Castiel could plow through a brick wall if it meant burying himself as deep in Dean as he needed to. “I'd do whatever I could to make you happy, Dean, but I can't keep on like this. I can't wait another night, I'm ashamed to admit it, but I can't. This hurts. I had n-no idea it'd hurt like this.”

“Hey, no, no no, it's okay.” Dean's scent grew so much stronger Castiel found himself whining under his breath as Dean grew closer, hands touching his shoulders to soothe in a soft torture. “I didn't know it was getting this bad. I'm not leaving. Just, you have to quit making that noise because it's making me want to stab myself in the ears.”

“You're staying?”

A pause, Dean digging his thumbs into Castiel's shoulders, his perfect, glorious scent swamping Castiel in a heady cloud as he leaned forward to rub his nose against the back of Castiel's neck. “I'm not sure I could walk outta here any more than I could spontaneously sprout wings and fly out your huge-ass windows.”

He sat up without thinking, everything functioning at an instinctual level, turning in his seat to wrap shivering arms around Dean's waist and buried his face in Dean's stomach. Holding on tight, possibly too tight, and there was nothing in the world that would allow him to let go. “You're staying.”

“Yeah. Guess it looks that way.” Fingers stroked through his hair, thumbs gentle over his eyes where they were tightly closed. “You're my mate and you're in pain. Where else would I be?”


	3. Chapter 3

“Don't drop me.”

The bridal carry was a bit much, if traditional. Maybe it'd feel less undignified if his alpha had a few more inches on him, as would usually be the case, but Cas wasn't exactly this huge slab of muscle and he still seemed shaky from a near-breakdown minutes ago. Dean was not built for this. Neither was Cas. Cas grumbled, all deep and raw, and Dean's asshole clenched and soaked his borrowed underwear a little more thoroughly. Ugh. 

“I'm not going to drop you.”

“I'm just sayin', if you drop me on the way to the mating bed, major boner killer.”

“I am _not_ going to drop you.”

Cas was too busy nuzzling into the side of Dean's face to start getting his scent all over him to look where he was leading them, and managed to walk them both directly into a wall. Dean started laughing, aroused and giddy on it, smothering the laugh when Cas gave him a dark look and readjusted to walk them sideways through the bedroom door. 

“Not a single word.”

Dean mimed zipping his mouth shut and throwing a key over his shoulder, and Cas's mouth lifted on one side in a small smile. Dean knew it was hormones, nothing else, a shit-ton of oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin rushing through his veins, but a warm wave of pure love swept over him as he looked into Cas's face and at how hard Cas was working to do things right and awkwardly carry someone bigger than him through to his bed. He didn't _know_ Castiel, couldn't actually be in love with him, but he sensed that his alpha was a good one. Seeing how much pain Cas put himself in by keeping his distance to reassure Dean he had choices swept any lingering doubts aside like a freakin' tsunami. 

The fact that Cas was a little strange, intense, and gorgeous in a delicate manner not usually seen on alphas, meant that Dean hadn't had a choice, not in the end. He was already gone on the guy. When Cas hunched over and started whimpering like a kicked dog because he was trying to give Dean the space to decide whether to leave or stay, the impulse to go and touch and comfort and soothe had been instantaneous, outside of Dean's control. Cas's scent was perfection, speaking to Dean of strength and protection and _home._ This was right for them both. It was probably the hormones talking again, but it honestly felt that way. It felt perfect.

Then Cas threw Dean down on the bed and ripped off his shirt, physically ripped at it, sending buttons flying every which way, making Dean's cock pulse and his ass soak everything through to the mattress. 

“Holy shit.” 

Castiel was unexpectedly hot. No, Cas was _smokin'_ , lots of lean muscle and flat brown nipples, tan skin and incredible scent, a few unexpected scars across his ribs and one defined pec. A thick ridge of fat dick was pushing against the line of his pants and up towards his belt. Dean's throat went dry just as his asshole decided Cas would require more slick than Dean was already leaking and just about obliterated the sweatpants. 

“The urgency to mate is becoming . . .” Cas blushed across his high cheekbones. _“Extremely_ urgent. May I help you undress?”

“Oh. Uh . . .” Dean plucked at the t-shirt he'd borrowed from Cas and already decided to permanently steal. “Before I get naked, there's – uh – I'm not –” He looked down at himself, not wanting to see if his admission made Cas's mouthwatering erection wilt at all. Which it would. “I'm not like an omega's supposed to be. I'm, like, hairier and my, well, junk's, uh . . . bigger. Sorry.”

His body hair thinned a little once he presented at sixteen, but his cock and balls never seemed to shrink back as much as they were eventually supposed to. Dean wasn't big by any measure, except compared with other male omegas, who were mostly soft and smooth and prettily undersized with a few cute little curls above a perfect tiny cocklet and nonthreatening scrotum. Dean just had a dick and nutsack surrounded by a sandy brown tangle he'd given up trying to trim into submission age twenty, which had been when he'd figured, fuck it, he didn't need an alpha anyway. The looks he'd gotten in the communal showers in the center had been informative. He knew he was built wrong. It didn't seem fair to start stripping off without warning his mate first.

The worst of it was how he had hair around his butthole. Not, like, a whole bunch of it, he wasn't the full Bob Ross down there or anything, more like a little fine fuzz, but male omegas in porn didn't have hairy assholes. Ever. And out of the top items on the long list of things Dean intended never to do in his life, blindly dragging a razor blade repeatedly over his balloon knot might've been the uppermost.

Castiel sat down next to Dean on the bed, not reaching to rid Dean of the t-shirt or to kiss him or anything. He picked Dean's hand up with his, lacing their fingers and bringing Dean's knuckles up to press them against his closed mouth before speaking. 

“It's probably a faux pas to speak of past conquests at this particular time, but would it help you to know that I've been intimate with two beta males in the past? On separate occasions, not just a free-for– I'm trying, poorly, to reassure you that what most people might consider to be a more conventionally-masculine body holds no mysteries for me.”

It helped. Hell yeah, it helped. Dean gulped in a relieved breath and squeezed Cas's hand tight in gratitude. “So long as I'm not bigger than you where it counts?”

Cas's small smiles were heartbreaking, worming their way in between Dean's ribs. “That's perhaps the one area in which I'm more traditional, yes. I'm sure we'd manage, but unhappily so, on my part.”

Dean tugged his hand away, and reached between them to cover Cas's straining cock with his palm, carefully stroking up its length to where its tip was wetting the fabric of Cas's pants. 

“I think I can safely say that's not going to be an issue, and that your part's more than adequate. I mean, hot damn. Good for you.”

Cas's fingers tightened on Dean's as he groaned low and rough, deep in his throat. “I'm hoping it'll be good for us both.”

“Yeah. About that . . . I'm not a virgin, exactly, but the only thing I've – hell. How do I put this without regretting it forever? So, it's . . . I've not, y'know . . . but I have . . .”

Dean pulled his hand away as he tried making some vague gestures, Cas looking more confused with each one. 

“You're squeezing something? That's a, um, stabbing? Stabbing motions? I'm no good at guessing games, Dean. Gripping a sports bat of some description?”

“Nobody's ever fucked me, except me doing it myself with a knotting dildo. Okay? That clear enough for ya?” 

Dean's cheeks were on fire, itchy under the flaking burns. He'd felt more attractive in his life. He'd imagined if he ever got mated, which was always going to be a long shot, it'd be some grand romantic daydream with candles and maybe lingerie and him looking his hottest. Not secondhand sweatpants and a peeling nose as he worried about his too-hairy ass. 

He flopped over onto his side, suddenly tired again and a lot less turned on. Maybe he should've let Cas go for it without any warnings or commentary and dealt with any pain later. His butthole certainly agreed, all twitchy and wet, wanting the goddamn mating to start already. Cas lay down behind him, close but not too close, his bare torso and scent enveloping Dean in a bubble of awesome making Dean's entire body throb, Cas's eyes dark as he stared down at Dean through the half-light in the room.

“Thank you for telling me. It's best that you did, because I can now suggest that we start out with you on top so you can take as much or as little of me as you want. We can change positions once you're comfortable.”

“You'd be okay with that?” 

Most alphas, as far as Dean was aware, demanded presentation from their omegas before mating, grabbing hips and climbing on to rut into them like animals. That was definitely how it worked in porn.

Not that Dean spent that much time watching mating porn or anything. 

Cas looked down at Dean with a soft smile, reaching to rub the pad of his thumb over Dean's bottom lip. “Of course I would. How could I be anything other than ecstatic at someone so beautiful claiming me for their own? I wish I could kiss you.”

“You can.” Cas had gorgeous lips. “You should.”

“Your mouth needs to heal.”

Dean's healing mouth thinned. “But we're mating _now._ Kissing should be involved.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I can't hurt you.” Cas looked shamefaced before he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Dean's jaw. “I'm not a cruel lover, and would hate to cause you pain or further damage. I hope that's not what you're looking for from your alpha. If it is, I can try, but it would be difficult and I'm not much of an actor.”

“Dammit, Cas. Quit being so nice. It's making me dizzy.”

The love hormones swamping Dean's brain made everything Cas said sound so pretty it almost hurt, an ache deep in his chest. He sat up, Cas finally getting a clue and helping Dean out of the t-shirt once Dean started stripping it off, warm hands instantly starting to slide over his skin. 

“I'll try.” Cas was kissing Dean's throat, his hands smoothing down over Dean's ribs and hips and into the sweatpants to cup Dean's asscheeks and squeeze. “Tell me if I'm going too fast.”

“I will, but you won't be. Sorry I got your shorts in such a mess.” 

Cas's fingertips discovered where Dean was leaking slick into the borrowed boxers. Cas rumbled out a low growl into Dean's neck and jaw as he slid his fingers beneath the waistband to glide into Dean's crack to coat themselves. “It's incredible. Your scent is exquisite, and feels as if it's driving me to insanity. I'm sorry but I need to be inside you as soon as is feasibly possible.”

“Definitely.” Dean lifted his hips and let Cas drag the sweats and boxers off him. “I'm ready. I can't say how much I want this. You, I mean.” He touched Cas's chest, then his face, cupping his stubbled jaw with one hand. “I want you, if I haven't made that crystal clear.”

Cas groaned out something that sounded something like Dean's name, too raw to be an actual word, his hands tight on Dean's ass again, one finger working its way between Dean's cheeks to rub over his soaking wet pucker. Nobody ever touched him there before other than a doctor, once, when he'd presented, who'd been old enough to be his mom and it'd been the binary opposite of sexy, involving gloves and lube and a medieval torture device masquerading as a speculum. Cas touching him there would've lit Dean on fire if it weren't for how much slick he was producing. Dean hissed, _'yes'_ , hiking his hips up and digging his hands into Cas's shoulders. 

He wanted Cas's pants off and for his mate to be naked against him, his skin burning up with the need of it, but Cas's finger was rubbing over his hole and pressing in before circling and rubbing again, and Dean couldn't do anything else except close his eyes and make embarrassing noises over how good it felt. Dean's fuzzy butthole didn't seem to have fazed Cas in the slightest as Cas started to kiss his way down over Dean's chest and belly as he fumbled at his belt. 

“Can I taste you?”

At which point Dean moaned and pressed his legs open wider, holding up his knees to keep them spread, presenting his hole to Cas without thinking. Wow. Apparently he was a giant slut when suitably inspired. Cool. “Seriously, yes. I need as much of your stuff all over my stuff as possible.”

Cas's thick cock slapped up against his stomach as Cas worked his pants down to his thighs, and Dean's asshole clenched again, hungry at seeing how hard Cas was, at the heady scent of him rising between them. Cas reached out to touch Dean's dick where it was lying heavy and hot against his stomach, hovering over it for a moment as it lifted up off Dean to try to make the connection with Cas's hand.

“Is it okay if I touch you?”

“I'm giving you blanket permission to do whatever you want, Cas. Trust me, I'll want it, too.” Dean was panting under his breath as Cas kicked his remaining clothes off then lifted Dean's cock with his hand to wrap his fingers around him, Dean's head falling backwards on a groan. “God, that feels good. It's been forever.”

The first touch of Cas's tongue to Dean's hole brought a mortifying whimper to Dean's mouth before he started making a thousand variations on the expression 'Ah' as Cas licked, kissed and tongued at him, growling with approval into Dean's clenching hole as if Dean was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. It felt unbelievably good, Cas's stubble raking at his inner thighs and asscheeks in contrast to the heavy pleasure caused by Cas's mouth, the hand on him working him steady and tight. Cas was feasting on Dean like he'd been starving in a desert somewhere, making it clear without a single word how much he wanted Dean, and too soon Dean started to feel too empty, his hole spasming around Cas's thrusting tongue because it was becoming overwhelmingly needy for more. 

He didn't want to come like this. It was starting to feel like a possibility, his mating gland throbbing angrily untouched at the base of his neck. He threaded his fingers into Cas's hair, gently tugging him away. Cas's eyes were almost black and hazy with arousal as he gazed up at Dean from between his thighs, licking Dean's slick from his lips as it gleamed on his chin and cheeks. Dean felt so overcome with love and desire for him he could've wept.

“More, Cas. I need you inside me.”

Cas closed his eyes at Dean's words, his shoulders quaking under Dean's legs, his hands moving to grip Dean's hips tight. “Yes. Yes, Dean, I'm – I can't –”

“I know. Finding a condom might help us both cool down a sec.”

“Condom?” Cas sat back from Dean with a frown, wiping his chin with the back of one hand. “Oh. Yes. I hadn't thought.”

“I have no idea how fertile I am right now. No suppressants for a few weeks.” Dean couldn't stop touching Cas, stroking up over Cas's thighs, the fine hairs there catching on his fingers. “And no knocking me up tonight, okay?”

Cas started to look genuinely concerned. “Of course not, no, but I'm not certain I have a knotting condom.” 

He crawled across the bed to one of the nightstands in a hurry, his sudden urgency making Dean smile. And, wow, Cas had a cute ass, round and firm, poking up all sassy and inviting where Cas was lying on his stomach. Dean prodded at one cheek with a fingertip, grinning again as it twitched in annoyance.

“Please, Dean, not now. I'm trying to locate one. I'm fairly sure I had some in here somewhere.”

A few regular rubbers got tossed over Cas's shoulder onto the floor and Dean somehow managed to suppress the urge to press a kiss against Cas's adorable little bottom, jiggling away as he rummaged. Dean settled for stretching out alongside Cas instead, amazed at how comfortable he felt, how natural it was to be naked and hard with someone he'd met only days before.

“I have to say I'm glad to know you haven't got a huge strip of them in constant rotation.”

“Ah-ha! Success!” Cas hefted the pack into the air like it was Excalibur. “I have no idea how long they've been in there. We should probably check the expiration date.”

It was an old box, and they only had four weeks left to use up all five. Dean was surprised to find he'd gone from nervous ass virgin to being pretty sure they'd get through them all in a day or two, and wondering how he was going to cope with Cas wearing clothes long enough to leave the apartment and get more. He found himself smiling wide and possessive as he watched Cas lying back to work the condom on, a frown creasing his forehead and the tip of his tongue clenched between his teeth in concentration, Cas glancing at him once he was done and patting his hips. 

“If you'd like to climb aboard . . .”

“You make it sound like I'm setting sail on the good ship Novak.”

Cas smirked. “Destination Paradise?”

Dean felt clumsy and too big again as he held up his junk in his hand and clambered ungracefully over Cas's hips. “Gotta admire your ambition, and if you think you can live up to that, sure.”

But Cas's eyes went all soft with unspoken emotion as he gazed up at Dean, his thumb tracing Dean's jaw and down his throat to pause over his swollen gland, adoration clouding his scent until Dean felt engulfed in it. “I'm already there. Waiting for you to join me.”

The words caught in Dean's chest and twisted, a sharp ache, his eyes immediately growing damp as a tear threatened to launch itself down his cheek. He sniffed them back and rubbed at his nose, settling onto Cas's pelvis, Cas's hot length of dick lying against his buttcheek. 

“See? Prince Charming.”

Cas's answering smile was beautiful. “I'm glad you think so. Please have me however you want me.”

“Copy that. Here goes nothin'.”

Dean lifted his hips up, too aware that he'd steadily been leaking slick while watching Cas rubber up, Dean's inner thighs already a slippery mess. He lifted Cas's prick with his fingers, Cas sighing happily and closing his eyes, Dean's butt suffering a moment's nerves as his fingers registered the girth of Cas and the heat of him. Cas's hands smoothed up Dean's legs to cup his hipbones as he murmured meaningless reassuring noises. His dick twitched in Dean's hand as Dean rubbed his hole back and forth over the head of it a couple of times, Dean's cock bobbing against Cas's flat belly and leaving a smear of precum there. 

The moment he hiked his hips correctly and pushed down, Cas's tip starting to stretch and penetrate, would stay with Dean forever. There was no pain but the sensation was incredibly intense, chasing away all other perception as Dean slowly enveloped Cas by an inch. Almost too intense to be pleasure, but like Cas was something he'd needed all along, like it was coded into every molecule. An embrace of something his body required at a purely primal level. He pushed down further as his body demanded that he have more of Cas, as if Cas's cock was a gift it was greedily taking possession of. This was for him and nobody else, a birthright he'd defend to the death.

Dean opened his eyes and blinked a few times, mouth hanging open on a groan. Two inches in and he was already preparing himself to kill for the right to fuck himself on Cas. Unexpected, but, yeah. Understandable. It felt _unbelievable._

“Dean . . .” Cas's voice was broken and rough, a low rumble Dean could feel all through him. “Mine, my mate, please . . .”

Dean splayed both hands across Cas's muscled chest, hiking his hips up before pushing himself down another inch, then another, amazed at the stretch and how much he could accommodate without pain. Amazed at how it not only didn't hurt, but felt _awesome._ Maybe they were a perfect match after all. “I know, sweetheart. Me, too. This is mine and nobody else's, you got me?”

“Yes, Dean. Only yours.”

“I mean it.” Dean let his eyes flutter closed on a moan as he pushed himself down to take Cas all the way in, his hole stretching and spasming around Cas's cock, Cas's dark bush soft as silk against Dean's buttcheeks. He let himself squeeze hard on Cas, Cas moaning and shuddering underneath him. “This is for me, all for me. Always.”

He felt like he might cry again, angry tears this time because he felt fierce and almost furious with a selfish lust burning him up from inside. Cas's skin was hot under his hands, his dick flexing deep inside Dean, his hips moving in small circles as he clung to Dean's. Instinct drove Dean to start rocking against Cas, pleasure hitting him hard as it drove Cas's cock into him, opened him up in places nobody had ever been before. Dean felt sweat break out across his forehead as he started cursing in breathy groans with each thrust of his hips. 

“Oh, my, fuck, that's so good. You feel amazing. Totally shouldn't have waited so long for this.”

“I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm glad you did.” Cas's words were husky and deep as he started to move against Dean, thrusting upwards to meet Dean's movements, nothing too hard or too aggressive but sending perfect friction through Dean's soaking hole, and the heat of it radiated outwards to where his cock was leaking against Cas's stomach. “I know it makes me very much that alpha, but that I'm the one to – I'm sorry, it shouldn't, I know, but it means so much that I'm your first . . .”

“No, it's good, its perfect, I like it, too. Fuck. Only you.”

It made Cas let out a gravelly whine and thrust into Dean deeper, his hips lifting Dean before Dean hitched them back down to take Cas to the root with a _smack!_ He pushed Cas's hand away from his cock as there was no way in hell Dean was ready to come yet, and he rode Cas faster and harder 'til they were both moaning loud, a mess of sweat, Dean's thighs starting to protest. 

“Ah, dammit, okay. I don't wanna stop, but my legs are going to drop off.”

Cas's head was thrown back against the pillows, his chest heaving beneath Dean's hands, fingers tight on Dean's hips as he kept pushing up into Dean in an inch-deep grind. “It's probably best if I don't knot you face to face.”

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot.” 

Dean's asshole was squeezing in on itself, confused, wet and stretched out as Dean pulled himself off Cas and dropped down onto the bed. Cas grabbed him, his hips again, manhandling Dean efficiently onto his knees, kissing every inch of Dean's skin he could reach, Dean starting to laugh at Castiel's rush to get back inside him. 

“Sorry. I'm just . . .”

“S'okay. Do what you gotta do, man.”

“You're sure?”

“Don't I look sure? Feels like I look pretty damn sure, I mean, what the hell.” 

Dean's body had pushed itself into a natural presentation without him so much as thinking about it. Knees spread wide, back arched to lift his ass up, head tucked down on his arms where he was propped on his elbows, wrists crossed in front of him. Cas sobbed out a desperate curse and was on Dean in an instant, the thick head of his cock waiting against Dean's hole until Dean lifted his hips to push backwards. It was enough of an invitation for Cas to drive into him to the hilt, both of them moaning loud, Dean's cock jumping and dripping where it hung between his legs.

“You feel, it's impossible to describe, sublime, nobody's ever, oh, _Dean . . .”_

“Fuck, yeah.”

Cas's rhythm was building up, Dean pushing back to meet him at every thrust. The sound of them filled the room, Cas's low grumbles and gasps, Dean's moans and curses, the slap of flesh on flesh. The world could be ending just outside the door and Dean wouldn't have noticed, everything in life reduced to Cas's cock in him, the pressure growing at the tip of Dean's dick and the pulsing of his mating gland. Nothing, none of his few casual hook-ups or his increasingly elaborate jerk-off routine had come close to pleasure like this. Cas's every touch seared his skin, Cas's cock lighting him up from the inside out. Nothing else existed. Dean pushed himself up to lie back against Cas's torso, reaching back with one hand to hold Cas's sweating head close to his as he grabbed at his bouncing dick with the other. 

“Are you gonna – unh, fuck – you gonna bite me soon, sweetheart? Knot me and bite me, make me yours for good?”

Cas grunted like it was punched out of him, his hips stuttering as Dean swore he felt the second Cas's knot start to swell against his asshole. “If you keep talking like that, yes, and soon.”

“Please, do it. I don't care if it hurts, I need it, need you.”

Dean wasn't sure if he'd lost the ability to make his brain work or if Cas simply quit making sense altogether, a stream of nonsense growls into Dean's neck coming from Cas as his knot expanded further, catching on Dean's rim as they continued to fuck, Cas's hands holding him upright against him. Dean's climax was building fast, his nuts tightening as as Cas grew bigger inside Dean's hole, Dean starting to whimper as it fattened up beyond the size of Dean's trusty knotting dildo.

“Shit, you're big, what if you're too – ooh, shit, slow, slow down, Cas, please.”

He could feel Cas shaking all over as he instantly stilled, skin and muscle plastered hot and sweat-damp against Dean's back, a heartbeat in his dick and knot beating wildly inside Dean as Dean's hole stretched to what felt like tearing point. 

“It's okay, you're built for this, built for me.” Cas's voice was wrecked, agitated, but his hand was soothing over Dean's stomach, stroking down further to cover Dean's hand with his own to stroke Dean tighter and faster. “Tell me when you're about to orgasm.” 

They jacked Dean's dick together, and Dean groaned, “Now, Cas, now, that'd be right the fuck now, oh shit, I'm gonna, I'm gonna –”

Cas's teeth fixed themselves perfectly over the side of Dean's throat, and Cas bit down and came, roaring into Dean's neck through his teeth as his knot locked them together, climax hitting Dean like a speeding train as he yelled and shot and shuddered, cursing like he couldn't stop. His asshole was clamping down frantically around the sheer solid size of Cas's knot, sending fresh lightning bolts of energy sizzling through Dean, making him shoot more and wail loud with each one. The bond was hitting him, his _mate_ behind him and that he was _knotted_ by his _mate_ and it was right, so right, everything exactly how it was supposed to be. 

Arms were around him, tighter now, Cas holding onto Dean's throat by his teeth, all of it sounding like it was hitting Cas just as hard, if not more so. Dean dazedly started to come back to something vaguely resembling reality, ripples of ecstasy counteracting the unbelievable ache of his ass. The figure behind him was shivering, Cas's cock twitching deep inside Dean and Cas gasping with a jolt of climax every time Dean clenched around him. He couldn't stop, the waves of orgasm bouncing around enough to make his internal muscles milk Cas for all he could, Cas making a sound like Dean slapped him every time, all hurt and agonized. 

“You, fuck, you okay back there?”

Cas finally let go of his bite on Dean's neck as he dropped his forehead to Dean's shoulder and gasped for breath. “It's very int-intense. Oh, God,” as Dean spasmed around him again. 

“Sorry. Can't help it. Wanna talk about intense? You feel like you're the size of a goddamn basketball.”

Every whimper, at every gasp from Cas, Dean could feel Cas's cock pulsing and trying to fill him up. Felt like there was a lot, and Dean felt suddenly grateful to whichever olde-timey person invented the condom and therefore so much clean up. Cas started kissing over Dean's bite between moans and shudders. “It feels wonderful, just extraordinarily powerful. Oh, I'm still . . . unhh, Christ. Did I hurt you too much?”

“No.” Dean started smiling now his body was settling down, trembling with absolute satisfaction and the instincts rewarding him with fresh floods of happy hormones for taking his mate's knot so well. “But I think there's a couple of areas that are likely to smart like hell later on.”

“Then I hope you'll allow me to run you a bubble bath and pamper you beyond whatever you deem reasonable. Ooh, _Jesus,_ it's not stopping yet.” 

“I don't know, I can deem pretty damn far.”

Cas grunted one last time with a shudder, then slowly started to catch his breath, his whimpers and shivers lessening, the solid girth of his cock decreasing deep inside Dean although his knot stayed stubbornly wedged as if it never intended to leave. Dean let himself relax back against Cas and closed his eyes, trying to hold his hips still so what felt like a massive knot wouldn't tug at him too hard. It seemed like it'd take half an asscheek with it if it popped out too early. Not painfully locked in, exactly, but a little terrifying, his asshole getting all kinds of indignant if it got jostled too much.

“I'd do anything, Dean.” There was a shaky, overemotional note in Cas's voice, and Dean wished he could properly turn to look at his mate, but, yeah, that wasn't happening for awhile. Not until he got more used to the feel of Cas's knot, if that was possible. It didn't feel possible. Ever. “You're my mate, and I promise I'll do everything I can to please you. Especially if you'll allow me to lie us down now.”

“Aw. You all tuckered out, lil guy?” 

Dean reached back and patted Cas's thigh, grinning as Cas huffed like he was insulted,

“Less of the 'lil', please, while my knot's in you.”

An amused inflection and the way Cas dropped a kiss on the back of Dean's neck increased Dean's sense of how good it was, that he could tease his alpha without some big gorilla's fragile masculinity getting all offended and going on a rampage with Dean swinging off his knot. There was possibly no other alpha in the world who could put up with Dean's BS, other than the one he was tied to.

He was lucky, was what it was. It had been perfect, the whole thing. Better than candles and lingerie. Cas gathered Dean up in his arms and slowly laid them down on their sides, taking every care to avoid the damp areas Dean generated with what must've been a impressively generous amount of cum, and to cradle Dean's hips with his own and minimize movement between them. Praising Dean all the way down to the soft covers until Dean was lying in his mate's arms, blissed out on brain chemicals and the contentment of afterglow, taking being bodily impaled way, _way_ better than he'd ever imagined.


	4. Chapter 4

“Quit humping the furniture, Casanova, you've got a visitor.”

Castiel looked up from frowning at a backlog of emails on his central monitor to where Luke was strolling into his office uninvited. He'd been back at work three days and they weren't letting up on him. True, he'd zoned out in four meetings already thinking about Dean and wishing he was back at home, and a couple of inopportune erections had been noted (and exhaustively mocked), but he'd finally been getting some work done that morning. 

“What? Who? I'm busy.”

Luke threw himself into one of the easy chairs by Castiel's office window. “District Attorney MacSuck. He's in the lobby, Mike's delaying him talking Yale stuff. Like, I don't know, Illuminati and spanking each other with paddles.”

“He's specifically here to see me?”

“Yep.”

Castiel's heart dropped to his stomach. “Already? That was fast.”

Luke was examining his cuticles, crinkling his nose at them, probably mentally booking in another manicure. “Yeah. He's getting faster. Must have a new hire who's not completely incompetent. I'm going to start digging and see if I can get them fired.”

They all had their stronger points on the team, and Luke's was a facility for ruthlessness and unapologetically questionable ethics. He could achieve results in ways that would never have occurred to Castiel. His personal motto was something like 'There's dirt on everyone if you're willing go deep enough' and he always was, as if he enjoyed it. It was practically a hobby. Castiel was certain he was looking into Dean.

“Do you think it's about the raids, or Dean?”

Luke squinted like he was thinking about it. “Yes?”

“Okay. Well. I'll pull the clueless act either way, I guess.”

Luke gave him a patronizing smile. “You're so good at it. Lots of practice. Want me to stick around?”

“No.” Castiel closed out his email with a click. “We're colleagues, it'd look weird.”

“You look weird. Your face is weird.” Luke got up out of his chair and scowled when Castiel raised his brows at him, “I know, I know, not my best work. Believe it or not, you taking two weeks out to do the pants-off dance-off with your new beau left me having to do actual work. I'm frazzled.”

“Then take a spa day.” 

The firm encouraged its employees to take mental health days as required. Luke regularly used them to go sit in a tub of warm mud up to his chin and would return glowing. Raphael volunteered at an animal shelter, Michael at his church's community drop-in services, Uriel gardened. Nobody asked Gabriel what he did with his, because none of them were sure they wanted to know.

“Already on the calendar. I'll send Uri your way once you're done.”

“Uh-huh.”

Castiel didn't notice Luke leaving. He was staring out the window, trying to mentally prepare himself to the point where it wouldn't be too obvious that he was obfuscating. It was a persona that fit with the way he'd often miss out on the background of common remarks or how conversation would often fly over his head without him noticing. But lying remained beyond a normal behavior for him. Castiel knew from Michael that Crowley had a reputation for quickly seeing through what would fool most people. Crowley was manifestly not most people.

There was a knock at his open door, and Castiel turned, schooling his face into something blandly friendly and professional. 

“District Attorney MacLeod? Please, come in, take a seat.” 

He knew who Crowley was, what he looked like. Michael had known him since college, and they were all more than aware of the man's virulent touch on the laws they'd been trying to fight. For someone who swore up and down that he wasn't a self-publicist and instead merely a simple public servant, the Kansas DA managed to get himself in the national news on a regular basis. Being familiar with him and his work wasn't unusual, even in a separate state. He waited as Crowley turned to a tablet-wielding underling, instructing her to wait for him in the outer office.

“Mr. Novak! We finally meet. I've heard so much about you.” Crowley's handshake was firmer than it should've been, a petty attempt to communicate power.

“Me? I can't imagine why.”

“We have a mutual acquaintance. Trains at Jim's, says you've got a mean right hook.”

Castiel could feel his face blanch, and hoped it wasn't as obvious as it felt. Gentlemen Jim's wasn't exactly a secret, but it wasn't something he habitually spoke about with others. Crowley had to be on the offensive to have dropped that into conversation so early on. “I can't say that's something I'm known for, it must've been a lucky hit. Can I get you coffee, water? Or perhaps you'd prefer tea?”

Crowley smiled. It didn't seem friendly. “No need, I'm hoping we'll keep this brief. Got a meeting with Boss Andrews to get to, busy schedule. Fingers in various pies, you know how it is.”

“Ah.” Colorado's governor had been a decade ahead of Michael and Crowley at college. “Alumni network? I understand from Michael that you were all at Yale.”

“Something like that. Now, Mr. Novak, I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Oh.” A newly-mated rush of virile scent would be appropriate, and might've happened naturally had Crowley not already started verbally jabbing at him, putting Castiel on the defensive and making his responses more guarded than they should've been. Castiel allowed himself a second to think about how hot Dean's ejaculate had been over Castiel's tongue and chin that morning during their shower, feeling his face warm and scent rise under Crowley's scrutiny with something that might've passed for pride in his own potency. “Yes. Thank you. It's been something of a surprise.”

“I can imagine. What was the official story? That you were out for a run . . . ?”

“'Official story'?” Castiel furrowed his brow. “You mean what I told the police?”

Crowley smiled again. It set Castiel's nerves on edge. “What else could I possibly mean?”

“Then, yes. I try to run when I can't find the time to get to the gym. I passed by a group of people standing in a parking lot outside town. I like to run out there as there's not much traffic. Dean's scent, that's my mate, Dean, his scent must've hit me. I don't remember much after that until after we'd mated.”

“That's handy. Not being able to remember much.”

“No, actually, I disagree. I'd give anything to be able to remember more about our first meeting. I remember Dean's eyes meeting mine before, well, I understand now that he passed out. Beyond that, I couldn't tell you what my first impressions of my mate were. Amazement, I suppose, that we'd met, given the statistical unlikelihood of us doing so. But I'd love to recall seeing his face for the first time . . .” 

He could remember looking into Dean's eyes for a split second, then gripping his lax body, the overpowering need to get him home. That was pretty much it before he fully descended into a fog. 

“And the police have informed you that your mate was illegally abducted from a state-approved facility?”

“Yes, but Dean'd already told me the particulars.” Castiel allowed a hint of aggression to enter his voice for the first time. He was absolutely permitted to make threats in this instance, however much everyone believed him incapable of carrying them out. “I think I can safely say that if anyone were to lay hands on him and try to take him back there, I'd have to rip their arms off. Followed by a head, or other bodily protrusion.”

Crowley chuckled, entertained that an alpha so small was getting his knot in a twist. “Please, Mr. Novak, nobody's here to try to take your mate from you. Unlike certain activists who seem to believe they're above petty legalities, I have no interest in breaking laws, considering my job is to uphold them.”

“The laws you're referring to revolt me. I'm sure anyone who knows me would confirm that.”

“I'm sure they would. Believe it or not, you're not the first alpha I've met who's unreasonably softhearted when it comes to social reform, and won't be the last. However, I'm not here to debate law with you.” Crowley was enjoying this, his eyes glittering. “Given your job, and mine, I wouldn't call it hubris to say you're somewhat outgunned in that department. Unless you'd like to try me on for size? Plenty have.” 

Crowley had Castiel pinned with direct, focused eye contact from under his brows in a manner that made Castiel feel like he was bug secured to a wall display with a needle. It was exceptionally uncomfortable. He was finally beginning to understand how a physically-underwhelming beta male managed to rise so far and fast to a position of power. He'd heard it from Michael and Raph, but in person it was something else. 

“No, thank you. I'm certain you'd metaphorically 'mop the floor' with me. I admit I'm better with graphs and budgets than in arguing the ethics of legal doctrine.”

It came as a relief when Crowley finally broke eye contact for a moment, leaning to pull a couple of pages out of his briefcase before pushing them across Castiel's desk towards him.

“I'm here to seek your formal approval as Alpha Mate to Dean Winchester for my team to make contact with him, so we're able to have a friendly chat over how he left our fine state in such a hurry. If you can sign and date where its tabbed, thanks.”

A sour expression distorted Castiel's mouth before he could school his reaction. Crowley was far too good at getting under his skin. 

“Alpha consent's not required in Colorado.” 

“No, but I'm hoping it will be, one day soon, and I like to have my paperwork in order.”

“Oh. Well. I'm not signing that. I'm also taking this opportunity to tell you that I don't want you to contact Dean, who is still recovering physically and emotionally from the captivity your state's laws inflicted on him.”

“The fact remains that I need to have a catch-up with him. Sorry.” Crowley didn't look sorry in the slightest. 

“Very well. Dean is an adult, there's nothing I can legally do to prevent you from speaking with him, and I wouldn't dream of trying.” Castiel pushed the papers back towards Crowley. “I have a feeling he's stronger than you imagine.”

Crowley grinned sickeningly. “I know he is. Big handsome bruiser like that. You like 'em beefy, Novak? Bit of fight left in 'em, eh? When I saw him at the center, he'd been denied rations for two days over disobedience, was covered in bruises from restraint and the jabs they were giving him, and still had all the piss 'n' vinegar required to tell me to go fuck myself.”

Castiel looked down at his desk to disguise his emotional response. Hearing it hurt, both on Dean's behalf, of all he must've gone through, but also that Crowley had been in contact with his mate. They'd already known it, were entirely sure that the two had been in contact, but Crowley confirming that he'd seen Dean and that Dean hadn't shared that with Castiel, felt like a blade burying itself in his heart up to the hilt. But Dean – abducted, two days of hunger, drugged, physically overpowered to the point of bruising – and Castiel had thought less of him for not standing up to Crowley's belligerent form of 'friendly' conversation? He was barely able to keep himself from bruising Crowley's windpipe with a three-finger jab before physically kicking him out of the building through a sixth floor window. They'd all judged Dean's actions far too easily.

“You know him? Dean?”

“One meeting, briefly, to share some information about his family. I'm surprised he hasn't mentioned it, he seems smart enough and must've expected a follow-up. Bit of a shame, your mate not telling you something like that. I'm sorry to be the one to drop him in it. Hope he's not in too much trouble.”

His voice suggested otherwise, a touch of a leer to it as if he was already imagining Castiel putting Dean over his knee. Castiel swallowed, taking a moment to compose himself so he could keep things civilized. 

“I've known Dean little more than two weeks. There's plenty we have to learn about each other.”

“I'm sure there is.” Crowley gathered up the papers, put them away before giving Castiel a smile that showed his teeth. He wasn't done, yet. “But then, the secrets we keep always seem to have a way of eventually finding the light . . .”

If Lydianstone was what they believed it to be, Crowley wasn't someone who should be waxing poetic about kept secrets. He seemed to be implying that he knew something about the secrets Castiel was keeping, but he was probably blindly fishing for a reaction. Castiel refused to let it rattle him further, his voice calm and genial as he could manage. 

“Discovery is an adventure. I'm looking forward to it and consider myself fortunate that I get to share it with someone like Dean. He really is wonderful, I never expected to be swept up like this. You must understand I'll do anything I can to protect him.”

“Which I suppose means you wouldn't want to give me Dean's private number? It'll save my team a little footwork.”

Castiel smiled politely and shook his head. “No. I don't think Dean would like that. If he tells me otherwise, then of course.”

“Alright, I tried.” Something beeped in Crowley's pocket. “That's my cue to get moving. This has been fun. You're an interesting man, Novak.” 

“I assure you that's the very last thing I am.”

“No? A mild-mannered CFO with a rep for a killer punch, and an unconventional omega who was recently on the run from his home state, who just so happened to drop into his mate's hands? You're more interesting than you might suppose.” Crowley rose from his chair and held out a hand again, which Castiel shook briefly, dropping the hand in his as soon as he could. “I'll be in the area for a while, perhaps we'll bump into each other again.”

“You'll forgive me if I say I hope we don't.” 

Castiel was already racking his brains as to how he might keep Crowley occupied enough to ensure he didn't go after Dean. The name never made much sense to Castiel, as none of Michael's old college buddies nicknames had, such as Jotters, Makeby, Noneway or Shoaled. He'd always thought it was some weird fraternity nonsense. They'd all come to refer to MacLeod privately as nothing else, the ease with which it fell from Michael's lips matched only by Michael's descriptions of Crowley's underhanded, power-hungry tactics, how through college he'd impressed with his easy cruelty and lack of apology in fighting dirtier than Yale men were supposed to. 

But now, the habitually black clothes, those small, intense eyes with their dark and predatory sense of focus, the way he made it seem as if he intended to pick away at Castiel and his mate until he'd stripped them to their bones, it was beginning to make some sense – he was a scavenger who thought himself more, a piranha who once dreamed he was a shark. Castiel knew he'd never have found himself liking the man, but to truly dislike someone to such a degree on first acquaintance was a new experience. An unsettling one. 

“Here's my card, please ask Dean to contact me or my team as soon as possible. We'll be making our own efforts to get in touch. Good morning, then.” Crowley managed to make it sound like he'd remember forever how Castiel wasted his time. “I'll see myself out.”

“If you would.”

Castiel grabbed his work phone and his Nokia from his desk drawer, exiting his office before Uriel turned up to sweep it for any listening devices Crowley could've stuck under the desk or chair. There was nothing more urgent than warning his mate. The desperation to get home and to place himself at the door between Dean and the world was painfully intense, and Castiel knew only talking to Dean himself could remind him how his mate was strong, and capable. A mate who didn't require his protection when that was what Castiel did, who he was. That they'd matched didn't make sense.

Old fairy tales told of alphas who were village protectors, guardians, knights and warriors. His status had once been so little to do with sex and breeding. It'd been chivalrous, something to be proud of and something Castiel identified with, nothing like the animalistic mass of sexily-seething hormones modern culture deemed him to be, mostly thanks to the Victorians and their prurient love of melodrama. Maybe it was because he'd grown up without much access to culture, no TV, no books, nobody to tell him stories at night other than the old Russian lady down the hall in that one rundown place his mother managed to keep them in for a few months one winter. He'd roamed the halls alone for hours, certain it was haunted or magical, full of old cupboards and strange nooks. He'd gone looking for it a few years ago, and had been genuinely saddened to find out it'd been condemned and knocked down years back.

He desperately wanted to be Dean's knight. Dean didn't need one.

_“Hey, look at that, you did better today. Your first call and it's almost lunchtime. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about me.”_

“Are you at home? Can we talk?”

_“No, I'm in the library, it's why I'm keeping my voice down. Somethin' wrong, you okay?”_

“I'm fine, Dean.”

_“You sure are, hot stuff. Haven't been able to quit thinking about your mouth all morning. I swear to God I'll have to stick a tampon up my ass if my slick glands don't calm the fuck down anytime soon.”_

Castiel closed his eyes and smiled, leaning his head back against the restroom stall's door as a wave of hopelessly adoring love swamped him from head to toe, his cock giving a little kick inside his boxers at how good it'd felt that morning to get down on his knees to worship Dean with his mouth. How fast Dean became his focus was terrible and tremendous and continued to astound.

“There is something I need to discuss with you before I leave work. Fairly urgently.”

 _“I was gonna head by the farmers' market after this. You want me to go straight home instead?”_

“Would that be too much trouble?”

_“Yes, ugh, you're the worst. Course it isn't, dumbass. Gimme twenty minutes, I'll call you back.”_

“Okay. Thank you, Dean.”

_“No problemo. Talk to you in twenty._

The line went dead. No 'love you's, no endlessly delayed goodbyes. He hadn't said anything to Dean about love, yet, as it was probably too soon and Dean already had enough to deal with. But it was ferocious and powerful, felt like it was something eternal, and sometimes Castiel was sure he saw a hint of it reflected in Dean's eyes. Sometimes as they lay side by side in the first week after mating, tied together, talking about nothing much. After the first time they'd kissed. Once when Castiel had threatened to throw his work phone at a wall or stomp on it because there was an alert he couldn't figure out how to turn off, and because technology was going to be the eventual undoing of them all. Dean smiled at him all soft-eyed over his book like he'd done something noteworthy rather than having a tantrum like a toddler.

His mate liked him, more than most people did, Castiel realized. Loved him, he hoped, a little bit, or was growing to love him in a way. He'd hoped his mate was beginning to trust him, but it seemed as if he'd have to prove himself trustworthy first and he wasn't sure if that was possible. 

–

Dean was staring out of the apartment windows as Castiel let himself in. It seemed to be Dean's favorite spot in their home, standing beyond the living area to look out across the valley and their small city beyond, one shoulder leaning against the wall next to the bookcases. Castiel wasn't sure if it was the view, which was probably more interesting than the huge flat landscapes of Dean's home state, or if it was simply that Dean was trying to get to grips with finding himself in a new environment. Perhaps it was just Dean staring into space, lost in whatever was going on in his head. Castiel thought he'd know more of his mate's mind, if he'd ever found himself with one. It was disconcerting to have a mate that remained so much of a closed book, no matter the bond between them. 

But it wasn't as if Castiel was himself in any position to be open and honest in their relationship. Not yet. One day, he hoped. When lower stakes were involved. 

“Hi, honey, I'm home.” 

Castiel said it with as much sing-song as he could muster, his voice reduced to a dried husk as Dean's scent hit him hard, and Dean turned to him, that glorious smile breaking like a rosy dawn across his face, dimples digging deep creases into his cheeks, eyes lit up. 

“That was pretty good. You're getting the hang of it.”

Castiel threw his coat and laptop bag towards the couch as he passed it in his rush to get Dean in his arms, not caring exactly where they landed.

“Is this where you fetch me my pipe and slippers?”

Dean leaned his head back as Castiel reached him, already aware after a few work days apart that the first thing Castiel would want to do would be to inspect his bite mark, to kiss over it, rub his nose over it. “Do you have a pipe and slippers?”

“No.” Castiel nosed his way up Dean's throat to his jaw, his arms going around Dean as Dean's hands smoothed across his shoulders. “You already vetoed my Crocs.”

“I can accept many things in a mate, but Kermit green rubber clogs are not one of them.”

“My feet don't care if they're ugly. I had a couple of pipes in college. Along with an enormous Venetian glass bong that,” He'd nearly said 'Gabriel'. “A friend got me for my birthday.”

“Ahh.” It could've been a reply to his statement or because of the way he'd started kissing underneath Dean's ear. “Back in your wild days?”

Castiel managed not to laugh. His college days had probably been the closest he'd ever gotten to being conventional. “Something like that.” 

They couldn't make love right then and there. Castiel reminded himself of it as he and Dean kissed, deepening it, his evening scruff rough against Dean's softer version. Dean's mouth was warm and inviting as it opened over his, big hands closing around his neck to cup his jaw and hold him into it. The reminder that they weren't supposed to be doing this and that they had a conversation to get through didn't help, not much, as his hands slid down Dean's strong back to cup his ass through his jeans, firm buttocks fitting so perfectly into Castiel's hands that it always gave immediate truth to the idea that they were made to match each other's specification. Dean's capable hands were on his belt now, undoing it, the hands that Castiel knew would touch him perfectly and like nobody else ever had, fingers on his zipper as Dean's tongue shoved roughly against his, and it took all the will Castiel could muster to pull away long enough to gasp out against Dean's perfect mouth, 

“We were supposed to be talking about MacLeod.”

Dean cursed, leaned his forehead against Castiel's shoulder before he pulled away entirely. 

“When I said 'we'll talk more about it when you get home', I didn't mean immediately that you got through the door. But, yeah. Invoking that asshole's name is one heck of an effective mood killer.”

“I realize that now. I'm sorry.” 

“Don't be. If tonight goes anything like the last couple weeks, this is just a temporary reprieve we should both use to rehydrate prior to the inevitable fuckfest. Not that I'm complaining. You want something?” 

Dean reached the refrigerator and was leaning over into it, his tight hips displayed handsomely in a new pair of black jeans, shoulders broad in one of Castiel's old sweatshirts, sleeves pushed up to the elbow to display the strength in those corded forearms. Castiel's whole body felt tight with want and the need to put his hands on Dean and pull him into Castiel's lap and the couch. He managed to croak out a request for a glass of water, fully expecting Dean's grimace, happy that he'd foreseen its arrival before it happened. The book of Dean wasn't entirely closed to him.

“Water's for washing pills down. Something big happened in my life today, though, regarding drinks.”

“How wonderful. What?” Castiel wasn't sure how to react when Dean turned from the refrigerator to him holding a small bottle as if it held the elixir for everlasting life. 

“Cold coffee. Is a thing.”

“It is. I'm aware.” It didn't seem to be enough of a response to how happily Dean was regarding the bottle in his hand, one of those single servings of flavored franchise coffees found in the drinks cabinets of gas stations. “I congratulate you on your discovery?”

“But it _is_ a discovery. You don't get it.” Dean poured his bottle of packaged coffee drink over ice in a glass then brought both their drinks over to the couch, cradling his own to his chest. “They were so weird about me drinking coffee back home. This is, like, my eighth today.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Probably not.” Dean sat down on the couch, leaving over an arm's length of space between Castiel and himself. “You understand that I don't want to talk about this, right?”

“I know.” 

Castiel longed to reach out and lay a hand on Dean's thigh, at least, to make some connection between them. But Dean must've put distance between them for a reason, and he should respect Dean's limits. 

“But when the guy's turning up at your office . . .”

“Exactly. I wanted to give you the time to tell me when you felt ready, and it wasn't as if anything he said was a direct threat –”

“But somehow he made every word feel like one. Yeah.” Dean pursed his lips. “I remember.”

“Perhaps you could describe your meeting as you remember it?”

“Yeah. Okay. But,” 

Dean blew out a breath and stared out the windows, eyes full of emotion suddenly. So far, Dean didn't talk much about how he was feeling, anything to do with their relationship or connection, nothing at all about how he was coping with half a life spent under increasing state control. But his eyes would fill to the brim with it all, sometimes, or hollow out as he'd stare into nothingness. Castiel knew he'd have to figure out some way of translating it, even if it took him a lifetime. 

“You have to understand, I wasn't . . . it sucks to have to admit this, but I was kinda helpless back in the center. I tried to fight, but all that achieved was getting myself beaten up. I hadn't been eating or sleeping, there were these drugs they made us take . . .”

Damn it. More than ever, Castiel wanted to draw Dean into his arms and embrace him, try to comfort, wanting to promise nothing like it would ever happen again. But Dean placed a boundary between them. It didn't matter if it was uncomfortable, Castiel was going to honor it.

“Please. Just be honest with me. Nothing you can say would change that I'm your mate, and that I'm here to support you.”

Dean dropped his head to stare into his coffee drink. 

“Okay. I'd been there a week and a half. They were breaking us all down, piece by piece, I guess so we'd become easy to handle and go along with whatever happened after the center. Even the ones who did what they were told got dragged out of their bunks for random medical checks or cold showers. Sometimes they'd leave the lights on all night for days. So I didn't know what I was expecting when I got taken to a secure room, something bad. Physical correction, was what they called it. They were like interrogation rooms you see on TV in cop shows. Metal table and two chairs. Mirror on the wall like someone was watching on the other side of the wall, security cameras. All that junk. And the fucking DA sitting there smiling at me like we were gonna be best buddies.”

“You recognized him?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Did I recognize the guy who'd been everywhere for a couple years? Who never shut up about how the lack of regulation regarding unmated meg trash like me was a risk to everything good in the world? Yeah, Cas, I was familiar. He held out his hand like I'd actually consider shaking it. Arrogant jackass. One of the guards shoved me down in the chair. I figured I wasn't gonna say a word to him.”

Silence fell across them heavy, and Castiel watched Dean drink some of his coffee, ice cubes clinking inside the glass. He knew he shouldn't interrupt again, shouldn't prompt Dean to unload faster than he felt comfortable with. Perhaps being mated was improving his people skills after all, he never would've realized that weeks back. It was difficult, though. _What next? What happened to make you talk, what did he say?_

“I stayed quiet while he asked me to confirm my name, my age, my alpha's name, which he already knew was my dad, how long I'd been there. I laughed when he asked if I was being treated okay. Other than that, I tried to ignore him. Even when the guard, the bigger mean one, shoved me a couple times, I wasn't gonna talk to the hairy troll who'd put me in there. Well, I wasn't, but then . . .”

 _Then what? What did he do to you?_ Castiel could've shouted it. He pressed his lips together and kept silent. 

“He said he had something he knew would get me talking. I said, sure, I'll talk, then told him to go fuck himself. He laughed at me and pushed a photo across the table.” Dean's face crumpled. “It was my brother. It's why I know he's in trouble. He was in a room like the one we were in, only handcuffed to the table. Lookin' super pissed, I mean,” Dean actually chuckled a little, sniffing back tears. 

“Sam's got this one face he does when he's mad, it's hilarious. So the asshole DA says that he wants to help Sam out, that they know Sam was preparing to illegally escort me across state lines or whatever, but that it'd help Sam's case if I demonstrated compliance. Like, if I showed that it was unlikely my brother and I conspired to remove me from my home state, because we both believed in what the changes to the law meant. I dunno. It doesn't make much sense now, but it seemed real back then. It seemed like he was tryin' to say he might not prosecute Sam's case if I helped him out, but I didn't know how I could. I mean, look at me.”

Dean hung his head again and wiped over one cheek with the heel of his hand. Castiel almost spilled his water in his lap with the effort it took not to grab Dean to hug on him and kiss the tears away. 

“I don't know anything. I've had two shitty meaningless jobs my whole life. Dad didn't like me to have too many friends or to go out because he said it wasn't safe and he didn't want me to get in trouble, and I hadn't seen Sammy since he left for college, not for more than a few days, so it wasn't like I knew anything to do with his life, either.”

“What did MacLeod ask you in return?” Castiel kept his voice as gentle as he could.

“Nothing, yet. I guess that's why he wants to see me, he's figured out what I can do for him. Back then all he asked was for me to confirm the stuff from before, my full name, my age, my alpha, my brother's name. If I had a driver's license, if I was registered to vote. Everything he already knew, he just wanted me to confirm it. What school I'd been to, what age I'd presented, which doctors I'd seen since. He asked if I'd been taking suppressants before coming to the center, and I said yes. He showed me a photo of this doctor I saw once, showed me a printout of the script she'd given me, and asked me to confirm that she was my doctor and that she'd prescribed me Orthogynaston.”

“And did you? Confirm all of it?” 

Dean nodded, once, staring down at his lap. Damn. That was it, all Crowley had needed. All of it captured by the security camera. Dean was entirely unaware of what he'd done.

“He already had a copy of the script, and it wasn't like she'd done anything other than her job. That was pretty much all he wanted to know. He promised he'd get back to me about Sam so long as I kept it all between the two of us, because if it got out he'd have no choice but to prosecute. It's why I couldn't tell you. I stopped the attitude and asked him as politely as I could to make sure he came back. Hated myself for that afterwards, back in my bunk. It was why I didn't want to get broken out of there, just in case MacLeod came back for me with information about Sam.”

“It's my little brother, Cas.” Dean's voice started to crack, and Castiel moved on instinct, sliding a hand up Dean's arm. “They've got him and I don't know what to do. It's not so much about him going to jail, he's this giant dork who'd make friends with everyone inside in approximately five minutes because he's too big to beat up on and would want to help everyone out with free legal advice. But all he ever wanted to do was be a lawyer, and once I'd presented he was so certain he'd fix everything for omegas. This'll ruin him. He'll permanently lose his license to practice or whatever.”

“It's okay, it's going to be okay, Dean.” Castiel shifted along the couch until he could cup Dean's jaw with his hands. “I'm so glad you told me. The legal department at my firm –”

“No!” Dean jerked his head away. “Weren't you listening? We can't get anyone else involved or he'll prosecute Sam. They must've charged him already, I don't know, I don't get how this all works. You can't tell anyone. I trusted _you_ with this information, nobody else. You got me?”

“I do.” It was another lie. He'd be explicitly betraying his mate's confidence before the week was out. Castiel had done some questionable things in his life, but lying while looking into Dean's eyes about something he'd been trusted with felt like one of the worst. “We'll figure something out. I swear I won't let anything happen to you or Sam.”

“You can't promise that.”

“It may've escaped your notice, Dean, but I'm a rich white alpha. I can pretty much promise whatever I want.”

It seemed to break through Dean's frustration, a hint of a smile flickering around the corners of his lips. 

“Rich, huh? Actually, no, I hadn't noticed that. I figured all this stuff came with the free apartment. Does that mean I can get something nicer than a secondhand Honda once I pass my test?”

“It means you could buy yourself a new Lamborghini and it wouldn't scratch the surface.”

Dean's mouth dropped open. “Shut up. Seriously? Shut _up._ I'm Annie. I'm motherfuckin' Annie.”

Who? Castiel felt his indulgent smile dropping as what was probably yet another cultural reference flew right over his head. “Annie?”

“It's a Hard Knock Life?”

Clarity was evading him. “Yes, I suppose sometimes it is.”

“Never mind. I can't believe you're rich and you drive a goddamn Prius.”

“It's a perfectly functional vehicle, considering all I use it for is transit around town.”

“It's the vehicular equivalent of Crocs.”

“Exactly. Comfortable and fit for purpose.”

“How am I even mated to you.”

Dean was leaning up against him now, and he threw his arm around Castiel's shoulders, tilting his head to rest on Castiel's own. It felt like everything was back to rights. Dean sniffed occasionally, wiping his nose with the backs of his fingers, but they were together and more than anything, Castiel didn't want to ruin the moment. 

But he had to. If he kept the outcome of Dean's brief talk with Crowley to himself, it meant he wasn't treating Dean as an equal, not trusting that Dean was mature enough to cope with the consequences of his words. It wouldn't be fair to Dean. It'd mean Castiel was acting like everyone in those red states, assuming omegas couldn't deal with the realities of life and that they somehow needed protection. Treating adults like children. He couldn't do it, hating himself for having to upset his mate but needing Dean to see that Castiel respected him with that truth, at least.

“I have to tell you something, which won't be welcome information.”

“Okay.” Dean was picking at Castiel's shirt collar while nuzzling into his hair. “Shoot.”

“I'm somewhat aware of various omega rights matters in Kansas. Not only because of my volunteer work, but because, as I've told you, my firm's legal department donates pro bono time to assist with challenges to one five two legislation in neighboring states.”

“Uh-huh. I remember.”

“Was the doctor you saw who prescribed you the Ortho . . .” Castiel knew what it was called. Any hint he could drop to suggest he didn't know exactly what he was talking about helped Dean stay safe.

“Orthogynaston.”

“Yes. Was it Dr. Rosalie Flanaghan?”

“Yes.” Dean sat up straighter. “Dr. Flanaghan, yes, I didn't know her first name. How would you know that?”

“Because Orthogynie–”

“Gynaston.”

“Isn't legal in Kansas for general prescription. It was in the news for months, years ago. It's primarily prescribed for heat cycle suppression, but also works as a contraceptive by preventing implantation. Red states believe that's too close to functioning as what they so charmingly call 'an abortion pill', so it can no longer be prescribed for suppressant use where abortion is illegal, except in extremely rare circumstances.”

“But there's no serious side effects with that one. The others are a fuckin' nightmare. Trust me, I tried three different ones and they all screwed with my system. Bust my hand on a brick wall during a mood swing on my last one before the Orthogynaston.”

“I'm sorry. Hands are tricky, that must have been a painful recovery.”

Dean shook his head like Castiel was missing the point. “Whatever, I survived. What happened with the doc?” 

“I remember the raid in the news. It was reported that authorities suspected that Dr. Flanaghan's clinic had been providing off-book prescriptions.”

“Shit. She was raided?” 

“Did she tell you to get the prescription filled through a private service?”

“Honestly?” Dean wrinkled his nose. “I don't remember, it was years back. Whatever she said, Dad always got my meds refilled for me. There was a place on his way home from work. So, wait, does this mean – I got that nice doctor _arrested_ because I got my suppressants from Walmart? Seriously? I didn't know they were illegal. I thought medical stuff was confidential!”

He shoved his way up from the couch, dropped his glass onto the coffee table and moved to start pacing in front of the windows. “And I got her clinic shut down? What the hell! I didn't know. I only went to see her because I have too much testosterone so most stuff doesn't work on me like it's supposed to. Our regular doc gave up on me. She was the only one who helped. Goddammit!”

“Dean, please, calm down.” Castiel moved to join Dean by the windows and got glared at as Dean jabbed a wavering finger at Castiel's face.

“Don't tell me to calm down! I ruined some person's life because I'm a fuckin' freak. Shit. That fuckin' DA _asshole._ I'm gonna kick his ass. I don't care what they do to me, I'm gonna punch him so hard in the face he'll be able to see the end of the universe.”

Dean obviously needed to work the anger out of his system. Castiel hung back to one side, watching Dean as he kicked at the couch and shouted obscenities at the windows, waving his arms and threatening Crowley with all kinds of creative bodily harm. It might've been amusing if Dean hadn't been so upset, but Castiel's mate was hurting and he hated every part he played in making it happen. 

There was more, including that they suspected Crowley's thugs had taken the Flanaghan's daughter to a processing center, a legally-questionable decision considering she'd been courted by an alpha girl her own age for over a year. Calling her 'unmated' for the purposes of custody would've required a true gift for disingenuity, but she'd disappeared seemingly without a trace. Crowley didn't care about the kid, only looking to grow his spider's web as he put pressure on Dr. Flanaghan to give up her contacts, suspecting, correctly, that she had some knowledge of who or what was attacking the omega compounds. They must've found something in her computer after the raid. The Flanaghans hadn't given any information to Crowley, yet. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before they broke. 

They'd known Crowley's official case against the clinic rested solely on one piece of evidence, a photostat of a prescription under the name 'Dean Winchester'. They heard about it when Crowley persuaded Dean Winchester, an omega in state custody, to confirm that the prescription was real, and were told that Crowley was supremely confident Winchester would testify as such in court. Their contact in Crowley's office seemed to imply that Dean was on the side of the public prosecutor and that MacLeod felt he had a witness who'd say whatever he needed him to, as if Dean stood to personally gain from any victory. 

The raid happened a single day after Crowley's meeting with Dean, all the clinic's paperwork and Dr. Flanaghan's private hardware taken and held as evidence. Their daughter disappeared two days after that. Dean's one small verbal confirmation provided Crowley with the means to gather the full weight of the law behind him. 

Luke and Gabe thought Dean was being handsomely paid off for freely offering the doctor's name to the DA. Uri, Raph and Michael fell more on the side of coercion, Castiel wavering somewhere in between over what could be motivating this unknown omega to join forces with those who would control him. None of them considered that this was a person who was trapped and powerless, scared for the safety and future of his younger brother, or that it was someone who'd had no idea the doctor was breaking the law on their behalf. Their contact in the DA's office disappeared shortly before their strike on Dean's center. Luke's cautious inquiries suggested she'd been fired for misconduct, but her apartment was cleared out, friends saying they hadn't seen her in months. The whole business stank of corruption as much as anything with Crowley's touch always did.

With Dean stuck in the middle of it, an innocent, looking horrified that he'd just found blood on his hands.

“I didn't know. I swear to God, I didn't know.” Dean let out a long, shaky breath, and finally looked over at Castiel, his shoulders hunched over. “I had no idea. I never watched the news that much. I know ignorance is no defense –”

“If you didn't know –”

“I would've known if I wasn't a dumb shit who didn't watch the news. But the news was always so crappy for omegas. I got tired of it, and Dad always told me to turn it off, said it made my scent go sour. I can't believe this.”

“I think the Flanaghans are still in Kansas and are fighting the DA's charges, so it can't be that bad.”

Dean allowed Castiel to slowly put his arms around him, sagging against Castiel's chest, dropping his head onto Castiel's shoulder. “Yeah, it can, especially when it turns out I told him straight out that she broke the law, with a security camera right on me, like a dumb shit.” 

“You're not a dumb shit, Dean. Please stop saying that.”

Dean grunted into Castiel's neck. “I hate that he came after you. I still want to punch him. Good people lost their jobs because of what I said to him.”

They'd lost so much more. Castiel knew he'd have to tell Dean one day, but he couldn't face it right at that moment, not with Dean back in his arms where he was supposed to be. 

“He can't do anything to me and you can't punch him until we know what's happening with Sam. I have friends who are the kind of lawyers who enjoy watching grown men cry. They'd publicly dissect MacLeod for fun if he so much as coughed in my direction. He's no threat and I'll never let him hurt you.”

It was the biggest lie he'd told Dean. Crowley could bring everything down and ruin them all. He could take Castiel from Dean and lock him away for years, leaving Dean alone suffering from a bond stretched to breaking point.

“Just promise me I can break his nose once we've got Sam back.”

“I promise.” He pressed a kiss into Dean's hair, knowing he'd be happy to hold Crowley still while Dean took whatever revenge he wanted. Was that what love was? It felt like it. “Then I'll throw money at mean lawyers until you don't get into trouble for it.”

Dean chuckled into Castiel's throat. “Oh, yeah. I forgot. I'm mated to Scrooge McDuck with his swimming pool full of money.”

Castiel didn't know who that was, either, and he didn't have a pool, money-filled or not. But informing Dean of that would've meant breaking the kiss Dean was laying on him, deep and toe-curling, a little desperate and promising so much more.


	5. Chapter 5

Every time Dean started to think he was getting a grip on all the changes around him, something would come along to sweep the rug out from under his feet. Tonight was no exception, and Dean found himself mutely watching his mate, realizing yet again that he didn't know Cas.

Every day had felt like too much. He felt wiped out. Castiel went with him the first few times Dean wanted to leave the apartment, chauffeuring Dean around endlessly without complaint, throwing down outrageous amounts of money on whatever clothes and shoes Dean needed, including a leather jacket he'd been side-eyeing like crazy without telling Cas he wanted it. A new phone way nicer than anything he would've picked for himself. A laptop, whiteboard, sticky notes and legal pads to help him with his search for Sam. A credit card with his name on it. Driving lessons! Dean grabbed Cas by the collar and kissed the fuck outta him when they'd pulled up in the parking lot for the DMV. Dean had a feeling he'd be awesome at driving. He'd started working on his dad's car, the one meant for him, a month before he'd presented. His dad didn't want him driving, said he'd heard too many stories about what happened to unmated omegas if they got pulled over by the wrong cop. 

When they were alone together, just the two of them, Cas was _awesome_ , a million times better than Dean'd ever imagined an alpha mate could be. True, he never got Dean's jokes, he didn't care about decent music and he wouldn't pay attention to whatever Dean was trying to watch on TV with him, preferring to sit hip to hip with Dean on the couch and glare at his laptop to poke at keys every so often. He wasn't what you'd call chatty or a laugh a minute, and he hadn't shared much about his past, just enough for Dean to know that his childhood sucked in some way and that his mom died when he was still a kid. One thing they had in common. There hadn't been much, so far. 

But he was adorable in the mornings, warm, fuzzy-headed and bleary-eyed, happy to treat Dean like a goddamn princess, putting his mouth or hands or cock wherever Dean wanted for as long as he needed. Dean could burn a single piece of toast with the barest scraping of butter and toss it under Cas's nose for breakfast afterwards, and Cas'd treat it like Dean cooked him a five-course meal, kissing and nuzzling into Dean's throat over his bite mark and thanking him for his care. The sex continued to be out of this world. Cas proved himself to be down for trying out anything Dean dreamed up during the day, including fucking Dean up against their huge windows one evening.

Cleaning cum off glass turned out to be way harder than it seemed like it should be. There were still smears in one spot if you squinted.

Cas stood up to Dean sometimes, softly and steadfastly calling Dean out on where he was hiding from emotions he didn't want to start dealing with. Dean would lose his shit every few days, aggressive and loud over his lack of control in everything that'd happened to him, and Cas'd simply take it in silence until Dean's mood burned out and calmed down, his eyebrows raised and a sassy expression reading 'not all alphas' all over his stupid face without having to say it out loud. Then he'd stroke up Dean's back with a pacifying hand and ask what Dean needed, what he could do. 

There was the way Cas looked at him, as if Dean was this ultimate prize that'd somehow landed in Cas's hands, a precious treasure Cas understood he'd been trusted with. Dean was not a precious treasure.

That evening was the first time he'd been out with Cas around other people, not including strangers in the places they'd visited together, stores, a couple restaurants, the library the first time Dean visited to get a card. Tonight was Cas's activist group, a few minutes across town, and Cas let Dean drive them there, not flinching when Dean turned right on a red light way too fast, surprising the fuck outta some guy in a huge Lexus. Cas said he thought maybe some of Dean's fellow omegas from the rescue might be there because other group members were hosting them. Cas was great, sure, but Dean needed to talk to someone, anyone else, before his brain started to dribble out his ears from the lack of human contact. He'd never had the chance at a social life before, not since school. Dean wanted to try as he didn't know a single other soul in Colorado.

But it turned out that he didn't know Cas, either, because the Cas with him right now wasn't anything like the mate he thought he'd started to know. 

They were a little early, a few betas already there, mostly women and a couple of guys drinking bad coffee in a community center. Cas introduced Dean as his mate, cupping Dean's waist with a hand as if he was something delicate and tiny. It'd been cute as fuck, because all the betas looked up into the eyes of the biggest, butchest omega they'd probably ever seen and tried not to look weirded out, their congratulations for Cas kinda stilted while Cas obliviously stood there all proud smiles like he'd found himself mated to a supermodel. But now Cas was catching up with a few of them as others filtered in slow, and Dean realized it was the first time he'd seen Cas interact socially with other people. 

Cas was the only alpha in there so far and maybe that was why he'd changed his demeanor, trying to make others comfortable? Perhaps he was just awkward in groups. He was nothing like he was at home. 

Cas's beautiful rich, deep croak had gone kinda nasal, nothing like as low or hot. It was still objectively a nice voice, but the idea of Cas talking to him in that voice in bed had Dean grimacing and burying his nose in his cup of what he now knew to be bad coffee. Because that was another thing, Cas's scent. Nowhere near as layered and lush as usual, instead muted, a shadow of its usual delicious depth, something off about it that made Dean uncomfortable. 

The betas politely listening to Cas talk about federal discretionary policy and long-term projections looked like they regretted asking Cas how he was doing. They'd probably wanted to hear all the romance about meeting his mate. Not budget domain and economic forecasts, which Cas had been talking about for almost ten minutes without stopping.

Dean's face burned, his head hanging in shame. He was embarrassed by his mate. Dean knew he was a shitty omega, hell, he'd warned Cas he was a shitty omega, but to be embarrassed by a mate who was smart, and caring, successful and sexy as fuck, every single thing any omega with an ounce of sense would want – Dean knew he should be proud of Cas, of being mated to someone he'd thought was this handsome and strong, politically active and uniquely different alpha. To sit there and be embarrassed because something was up with Cas's voice and scent, and how, yeah, he had weird taste in clothes and how his small talk could be recorded and used as a sleep aid . . . it wasn't fair, and said way more about Dean than his mate. 

It said nothing good. It said that Dean was a horrible person for wanting to cringe through the floor every time Cas repeated 'fiscal responsibility' in that dorky voice.

Cas was proud of Dean, even though Dean was too big, looked like he could kick the ass of any other guy in there, was sweating out his deodorant and already needed a fresh shave. Cas was a little smaller than Dean, dressed like he shopped on the discount racks in thrift stores, smelled weird in groups, bored people on an Olympic level in an endless monotone, and Dean felt embarrassed. God, he _sucked_. He wasn't the worst mate in the world or anything, but jeez. He'd never realized before that he could be so shallow. He just wanted to get home and away from these people, have Cas be back to normal.

“Dave! Yay, you're here and HOLY FRACK YOU GOT BIT?!” 

Dean looked up and instantly grinned, his bite smarting where it was only half-covered by the neckline of his sweatshirt. It was Charlie, the girl from the truck and the one person he'd been hoping was going to be there. Sure, they'd talked for maybe five minutes and didn't know each other at all, but they came from the same place, went through the same hell, and Dean wanted her to meet Cas. 

He did. He really did. He _was_ proud of Cas.

Thank fuck for small miracles. Cas gave Dean a concerned look as Dean stood, Cas's pretty blue eyes all quizzical as they glanced over towards where Charlie was determinedly marching towards them with her arms flung wide. Dean held out his hand, waiting for Cas to quit boring the ass off those poor beta chicks long enough to take it and come meet the closest thing he had to a friend. 

He loved – well, he liked Cas, that was for sure. He did. Love was a work in progress, but the seed of it was there, and the idea of losing him was unbearable. He was proud of being with Cas, not in a 'check me out, I ended up dating the quarterback' kinda way, more in a 'mated to a secretly-hot nerd' way, which was enough. It was more than enough, it was _good,_ more than he'd ever hoped for. Dean had to remember that, no matter what.

–

“You're sure you don't want me to come with you? I could sit at another table and read the newspaper.”

It'd be an actual newspaper, too, not just reading the news on his phone like everyone else in the world. It was stuff like that about Cas that got to Dean the most. Okay, yeah, that and the stuff Cas did with his mouth. Cas buried his head in Dean's neck again, kissing over Dean's bite mark and up to beneath his ear, his arms stupidly strong around Dean's torso. It'd be so easy to text Charlie and say he couldn't make it. 

They were deep in the fucking-like-bunnies stage of things, and could barely keep their hands off each other. Dean already shot twice that morning, once in bed as they'd sleepily jacked each other off, then again on the couch after breakfast. Weekends were awesome.

But the scent of Cas as Dean smiled into his mate's hair and hugged him in return, the solid fact of him, the way his body seemed to fit right against Dean's and the feel of his lips on Dean's throat all had him wishing he'd agreed to meet Charlie at a later hour. Like, Monday. Why the fuck was brunch a thing.

“No.” Dean bit down on a moan as Cas nibbled around his mark. “Get to the gym, you gotta keep all those muscles in shape for me.”

“You like my muscles? I didn't think I had that many.”

Cas looked inordinately pleased with himself as he lifted his head out of Dean's neck and tilted his head this way and that, trying and mostly failing to look at his own shoulders.

“I think I've made it more than clear how much I like all your stuff. I should get going.”

Cas's expression turned serious. “But you'll keep watch –”

“For any shadowy government types looking to kidnap me, yes, Cas, I will. It already happened once, remember? Trust me, I'm on high alert every time I step out the door.”

“And you've got your –”

Dean rolled his eyes and tried not to laugh, lifting them out of his jacket pockets to show Cas. “My pepper spray and assault alarm. I already told you, I can take care of myself, and people treat me way differently these days. Nobody's gonna come messing with me, thanks to your stinky butt. Your scent's all I need, sweetheart.”

Cas's smile was small and coy. “You like my stinky butt.”

“Yeah. I do. Your stank ass and your muscles.” Dean sighed like he had the worst life in the world, then leaned in to press a firm kiss against Cas's mouth. “I'll be safe, I promise.”

“Okay.” Cas shifted from foot to foot as if he still wanted to insist he should accompany Dean, but he didn't. Dammit, he was cute as hell when he was fighting his alpha instincts, the internal struggle writ large across his face. “Would you like me to pick up something for dinner tonight on my way home?”

“I guess? Hadn't thought that far.” 

“Oh. Let me know either way.”

“'Kay. Call me if you need anything.”

Dean found himself standing outside their apartment door a few minutes later, forehead leaning against it. He'd barely moved. They'd dealt with Cas leaving for work every weekday morning, and the first few times had been tough as shit, Dean eventually swathing himself in Cas's old clothes to cover himself in scent so they'd both feel better about Cas leaving. They'd gotten through it. And it'd taken Dean a full week to get through going outside alone without his legs feeling like they were going to give way or having to fight his own lungs for breath, another week before he could go out and feel comfortable and actually enjoy the light and fresh air on his skin. Freedom was weird. Being able to do literally what the fuck ever he wanted for the first time since he'd presented was, yeah. Strange and vulnerable-feeling.

But this, leaving what he supposed was home now, with his mate still in there, his _alpha_ waiting for him in their little nest up in the clouds, was tugging at Dean's psyche so viciously he hadn't managed to walk over to the elevators, instead wavering pointlessly by the door. It didn't matter that Cas would be leaving soon to go to his gym, because logic counted for nothing where instinct was concerned. Instinct wanted him to hide away with his mate in their bed and did not for a moment understand why Dean might want to do anything else. Fuck, it was annoying as hell. Even Cas's knot would eventually deflate and let him go, but the bond was constant and felt impossible to fight. Dean gritted his teeth, concentrated, and made it a full three steps towards the button for the elevator before cursing, giving in and letting himself back into the apartment.

Cas was standing in the hallway as if he was already on his way out, car keys in hand, gym bag over his shoulder, eyes round with surprise. “Did you forget something?”

“Apparently, yes.” Dean grabbed at Cas's shoulders and pressed him into motion towards the door, swiping the car keys. “Stupid frickin' bond. You can drop me on your way to the gym. I'm driving.”

–

“So?? You like it?”

Dean made a show of tasting it like some kind of wine expert, licking his lips. “It's okay, I guess.” Charlie gasped in outrage as he grinned, “It's actually pretty good.”

Charlie narrowed her eyes at him over the lip of her mimosa glass. 

“I think you're mistaking the term 'pretty good' with 'holy shit, bro, you were so right, it's nectar from the gods and I never should've questioned your judgment'. I love it. It's all I'm drinking from now on.”

“It's alcohol with breakfast. Can't remember the last time I was allowed a drink.” 

His dad usually let him have beer on his birthday. Mimosas were, in fact, delicious, and Dean was planning on putting away two or three more before he had to stagger home. And they had fruit juice in, so, hey, vitamins. 

“Eh. It's twelve, I think this counts as lunch. Look at us! Drinking in public. ” Charlie held her glass up for Dean to clink. “Here's to openly giving zero fucks about our fertility!”

Dean clinked. “Weird, right? I keep expecting someone to march over and tell us off.”

“I know! Scandalous. Although, with that reek all over you, I doubt anyone's coming over here to do anything other than treat us with extreme courtesy.” Charlie drew back from Dean across their small table. “I mean, what does he _do_ , actually lift his leg on you every morning or something?”

“What?” Dean blushed to the roots of his hair and took a couple of discreet sniffs of himself. “Ew, no. That's disgusting.”

“Don't do that, don't kink shame.”

“I'm not, I'm just – is it that bad? His scent's real strong at home. Guess I must absorb it or something.” He couldn't quit blushing and was getting annoyed with it, starting to get defensive. “I like the way Cas smells.”

“No. Hey. Sorry. I didn't mean to – don't get self-conscious because I'm awkward and tend to vomit opinions. Of course you love his scent and it's not a bad smell, totally not a pee smell, trust me, and it's way nicer than those fake booster scents.” 

Charlie raised her voice a little, giving the stink eye to a table one over from them peopled with four highly-fragranced betas. They glared back at her and Dean smiled as he munched on a breadstick. His new friend was kinda fun, now he was halfway down his cocktail. 

“But it is a little intense.” Charlie took another glug of her drink, mulling over her words. “It's, like, okay, imagine what Hulk's mate would smell like. It wouldn't necessarily be bad, I mean, Hulk's adorable in his own way, but it'd be a _lot._ Cas's scent on you comes across very HULK SMASH. It's kinda awesome. People have got to be treating you with way more respect considering you smell like you're mated to King Kong.”

“People do, totally. But you've met him. Cas is lots of stuff, but he's not – y'know. Hulk. He's just this weird lil guy.”

Charlie shrugged. “Still waters? Hidden depths? He's not that little, even for an alpha. He's pretty regular sized.”

She didn't comment on how it was Dean being unusually tall and broad for an omega that meant Cas seemed slight in comparison. She didn't need to. He tried not to take it personally and moved on.

“But his scent's definitely different at home than it was the other night at the meeting.”

“Yeah. I dunno.” Charlie finished her drink and was looking around for their waiter a little wildly, empty glass raised. She _really_ liked mimosas. “His scent's definitely stronger on you than it is on him. It's probably a chemistry thing. Alchemy, actually, maybe you're the catalyst that turns his scent into gold, and seriously,” To the waiter who'd finally appeared bearing plates and a fresh jug of cocktail. “I love you. Keep them coming and, oh, bacon, how I have missed you. Nitrates, get in me.”

Their plates looked about the same, a small helping of fruit and cinnamon toast along with all the bacon in Colorado. All of it. Dean took one look at it and started laughing, Charlie joining in once she'd taken another long draw on her mimosa. “Wow, when we ordered extra bacon, I didn't think we'd be getting five pigs' worth.”

“Each.” Charlie didn't bother with silverware and grabbed a strip of bacon, taking a bite and chewing before closing her eyes to make sex noises. “Oh, my goddess, I just came.”

It was good, God, the bacon was good. Fatty, crisp and deeply salty, the mimosa cutting through the salt with sweetness and a little acidity. How had he forgotten about bacon? Dean grinned at Charlie, who'd stuffed so much in her mouth in one go her cheeks were bulging and she spluttered on a sudden laugh, shooting shrapnel of tiny shards of bacon all over their pristine white tablecloth before covering her mouth with her napkin, trying not to laugh harder. To think he'd worried about his lack of table manners when he'd seen what a nice place it was.

It shouldn't seem like much, a drink in public and some cured meat, but it was the taste of independence and Dean grinned harder at the thought, shaking his head when Charlie tried making 'what??' sounds through her mouthful. 

“Swallow, and I'll tell you.”

Charlie swallowed and wiped over her mouth again. “If I had a nickel . . .”

“I was looking at you all chipmunked out, and I had my own mouthful of bacon and mimosa, and all I could think was 'Mmm, tastes like Freedom'.”

“Hah! Yeah, it totally does. Amurica – home of the free plus a bunch of other people we don't give too much of a crap about, and where our law-makers suck but our bacon almost makes up for it.” Charlie kept talking around another mouthful, “I should totally run for office, I feel like I should have a waving flag as my background. And I _rock_ a pantsuit.”

It wasn't as if pink meat, caffeine, smoking or alcohol were illegal for omegas where Dean came from. More like, frowned on. Pregnant women and unmated omegas, all cared for by a paternalistic society who prioritized the health of possible future generations above the autonomy of those already in existence. Like with everything else, Dean's dad figured it was best not to rock the boat and went along with the state's official health advice, because denying Dean small pleasures was no skin off his nose. 

Dean managed to sneak coffee in the breakroom at work, which had been his one small rebellion. No wonder he liked it so much. He hadn't considered all the things he could start having or doing now. Finding Sam was his primary focus, along with driving. But bacon and a cocktail on a sunny Sunday when they'd all say he should've been in church felt like flipping two middle fingers in the direction of his home state, and it seemed like Charlie was enjoying it as much as he was. 

“I can imagine. What did you think of the meeting?”

“They were nice?”

“I guess. Yeah.”

“It wasn't quite as actively activist as I thought it might be. A little too reliant on the supposed influence of online petitions.” Charlie waved down their waiter and requested an entire vat of coffee. “I suppose what I'm saying is . . . Did they seem like the sort of group the Shadow Wing would rely on for assistance with refugee housing? No. They did not.”

Dean swallowed his bacon and forked up more before replying. “The what?”

Charlie blinked at him. Actually put down her drink.

“Dude. _Dude._ Duuude.”

“Quit dude-ing me. What's the Shadow Wing?”

Which got quite a reaction. Charlie clutched at her hair and squeaked, “You haven't heard of the Shadow Wing? How is that possible?”

“I'm recently finding out I don't watch the news as much as I should.”

“Oh, young Padawan, you have so much to learn.” She started digging under their table and into her messenger bag. “Time for you to meet the new love of my life.”

Which turned out to be a beat-up laptop, which Charlie reverently tried to make a space for on the table and petted over a few times. “Isn't she beautiful? It's Michelle's old one, but she's got everything I look for in a girlfriend.”

Dean smirked. “Which would be? Portability? Wifi-enabled?”

“Hi-res up top so I've got something pretty to look at while I'm fingering all the hefty RAM she's got stuffed in her slot, duh. Anyways, no, get your mind out of the gutter. I was already getting into the whole Shadow Wing thing back in Kansas before I got megknapped, but I've had so much time sitting around since we got here that I might've kinda fallen down a rabbit hole . . .”

The unfamiliar browser had so many tabs open he couldn't begin to count them.

“So. The guys who broke us out.”

The actual break-out had been a mess of shouts, alarms, smoke and panic. A small, unknowable number of guys in black body armor and full face masks bringing chaos. Muted explosions, shots fired, which didn't sound like bullets, exactly, the whine and crackle of the security guards' tasers accompanied by choked-off screams and cries for help. Dean dreamed of it occasionally, waking next to Cas in a sweat, wrestling his way out from under the covers, but he'd avoided thinking of it consciously since. 

“I don't remember too much about them. Just those three that drove us out on that goddamn run, who were apparently so prepared they forgot to bring us any water.”

“Yeah.” Charlie cackled. “Man, you were such a pill that day.”

“I had my reasons.” 

“I'm sure. Can't think why else you'd have fought so hard to stay in frickin' Kansas. So, the Shadow Wing –” She clicked on a tab that brought up a grainy security photo of one of the black-masked armored guys, a heavy-looking pack on his back, a weird weapon in his hands held tight to his body that didn't look like a regular shotgun. “We think, is this guy. He's the leader, or seems to be. There's only a few of them. But they've hit five omega processing centers in Kansas, rescuing seventy-eight omegas so far, including us, and the rumor is that this dude leaves a single black feather behind with a note saying 'With compliments, the Shadow Wing', because he's fucking bad-ass.”

“Shit.” Dean stared at the photo. “You think it was that alpha from the run? I might've been less of an asshole if I'd had any clue what was going on.”

“It seems like there's two alphas and three betas involved in the raids, but they've got to have more infrastructure than that in order to disappear almost eighty omegas. We think, I mean, this is all pretty out there. Proof is a flexible concept with conspiracy stuff. Nothing's come up on the news of the raids other than that they happened and that there's never any fatalities. It's spreading all over the internet. Only a matter of time before the story breaks mainstream.”

“So you don't know for sure that any of this is real? It could be just total BS.”

“Jeez, okay.” Charlie closed her laptop. “Don't piss in my Wheaties, I admit I'm obsessed. How cool if it's true, though, that a legit urban legend broke us out? It seems like it's the same guys every time, the same guy in charge, non-lethally kicking ass and leaving snarky notes . . . There's a bunch of the other rescued omegas who hang out the same places I do, we're all talking about it, about the different details we remember. We know that _someone_ broke us out and that _somebody_ gives enough of a shit about omegas in captivity to do something about it, and that there's one alpha who seems like he leads them. What's wrong with thinking he might have an awesome name and M.O?”

“Nothing, I guess. Thanks.” Dean gratefully accepted a cup of coffee from their waiter. Turned out Charlie was a little intense and the two mimosas he'd downed weren't helping. “It's good you're talking to the others. Is everyone getting over it all? Like, processing?”

“Slowly. Everyone's freaked, trying to support each other, encouraging each other to try new stuff out and not be scared. It's where I got the bacon n' booze idea from.” She smiled at him across the table. “I just needed someone to go with. I would've been so bummed if you hadn't been there last night, it kinda sucked nobody else made it. I thought I might try to organize a group meet-up or something for everyone from our center, if I can figure it out. Make sure we're all doing okay.”

“That'd be great, but too dangerous. Doubt there's an easy list somewhere of where we all went.”

Her shoulders slumped and she nodded morosely. “I know, I guess not. And I can't be the only one using a different name.”

“Good idea. DA MacLeod's already sniffing around. He went to Cas's office to talk to him about me, and that's gotta be because I got an official right to remain after the whole,” He waved a hand at his neck. “I registered with a doctor and got my learners permit and up he pops, like somebody farted.”

“Wait. Fergus MacLeod's here, as in,” She pointed at the ground a bunch of times with both hands. “Right here, not just in Colorado, but in town?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you freakin' _kidding me?”_ She dived under the table and grabbed her bag. “What if they're watching you? I know I sound like I temporarily dislodged my tin hat, but they could totally have you under surveillance, right?”

“What?” Dean watched Charlie stuff her laptop back in her bag, looking around at the restaurant's windows in a panic, color growing on her pale cheeks. “Why would they . . . Aw, dammit. I didn't think.”

“I gotta go. It's not your fault, I should've thought about it after the meeting. I should've known you were resident the second I saw the bite. What if they're waiting out there? I can't run, I just ate an entire pound of bacon!” 

“I'd say I'd come with you but, yeah, that's zero help if I'm the problem in the first place. Um. Here.” Dean grabbed his personal alarm and the pepper spray out of where his jacket was hanging off the back of his seat. “Take these, use them if you need to. Stay where it's crowded. It's not like at home, people don't suck here, passers by would step in.”

Charlie was fumbling her wallet with shaky fingers, probably not helped by the amount of mimosa currently diluting her bloodstream. “I've got cash, Michelle and Alix gave me an allowance –” 

“Don't worry, I've got this, just go.”

“You're sure?” 

“Cas is totally loaded.”

She laughed once, loud enough to turn heads, and punched at his shoulder. 

“The rest of us landed in Oz and you're living out a whole Pretty Woman fantasy with your adorably fragrant alpha? Noice. Get that money, gurl.” 

“Uh, sure. Stay safe. Text me that you got home.”

“Wilco.” Charlie jammed on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Her hands were shaking, not as bad as they'd been back in the truck, but she was spooked and there was no way Dean couldn't feel responsible. “Incognito mode activated. Our avenging vow goes both ways, right?” 

“Hell, yeah. 'By Grabthar's hammer . . .'”

Charlie paused a meter away from their table and grinned wide. 

“'What a savings.' Peace out, nineties' Julia Roberts.” She threw him a Vulcan salute, and a big, bitter wave of fondness swamped him. If anything happened because they'd had brunch together, like regular adults doing nothing wrong, if they dragged her back there . . . there was no way he'd forgive himself. “Catch you on the flip side.”

A swirl of red hair and Charlie was gone. He didn't know if he'd ever see her again. Dean had a number for her, but that was it, no address, no idea which part of the city she lived in. He wasn't even sure if he was using her given name. 

He was standing on shifting sands. Living every minute on them. The bond felt like it anchored him but he was drifting, nothing tangible to grasp hold of other than Cas and Dean refused to be that guy, someone defined only by the person he was with. 

Anonymous calls to police stations across Kansas had yielded fuck all in the way of results, unsurprisingly. He had no idea where Sam was, what could be happening to him, or how to get to him without alerting the DA's office to his efforts. Dean didn't doubt for a moment that MacLeod would follow through with his threat of prosecuting Sam if Dean didn't toe the line. He'd googled private detectives locally but had no way of determining who could be trusted with something that required such careful handling as his brother's entire future. Talking to Cas would mean more offers of help from Cas's firm, more people in the know. Dean was floundering blindly with no clue what direction to head in next. More than a couple times he'd thought he should get it over with and call MacLeod, which seemed like it had to be panic talking.

He missed his dad. Dean's nose stung and he looked down at the mess he and Charlie made of their table, the buzz of conversation around him making him feel more isolated. He'd never thought it possible, but he missed his dad and couldn't stop thoughts of the old man sitting at the kitchen table alone, unshaven, probably drinking, not eating, not caring. He wanted to see his fucking dad, and his brother, and be able to have brunch with someone he thought he liked without being terrified he'd put their safety at risk. 

He wanted to be in Cas's arms somewhere that felt like home, not in some designer apartment full of sharp edges and gleaming angles where he felt he had to keep wiping everything down so he didn't leave smudges.

Dean wanted to go home. The only thing that felt anything like that was Cas. Dean felt like a pathetic asshole and totally like that guy as he gave in, pulled out his fancy new phone, brought up Cas's name and hit call.


	6. Chapter 6

“Ow! Will you cut that out?”

Castiel wiped a drop of sweat off his eyebrow. “Sorry. Slipped.”

Uri scowled at him a second longer before raising his guard again. “Again? That's three times you've 'slipped' and caught me in the kidneys. If there's a single drop of blood in my urine later . . .”

“I know. Won't happen again. Keep going.” 

He banked a debt of an hour's admin time every time he forgot to take enough care and injured his brothers while sparring. It usually helped him concentrate. Castiel liked the satisfaction of getting work completed and neatly put away, but he hated paperwork and was convinced his floor's photocopier was possessed by something evil that hated him. It waited, watching, plotting his destruction, which usually involved collating brochures. 

Uri telegraphed a kick to his hip before dodging out the way of Castiel's answering jab to his ear. “Talk about it, if you're this affected. Get it out of your head. You think he's called Crowley?”

“No.” Castiel drove his shoulder into Uri's chest and pushed him a meter away before jabbing at his ear to disorientate. “Not this morning. He's at brunch with Celeste Middleton.”

“Is that a good idea?” Uri ducked under Castiel's swing and poked him in the armpit exactly where he was most ticklish, making Castiel snort and shudder. “Yeah, Mr. Sorry-I-Slipped, you like that? Got more where that came from.”

“You're the one who reassured me they're not watching Dean.”

“Watching him do what?” Raph was lying on the floor outside the mats, sweaty and annoyed after he'd tapped out of sparring with Castiel's unsettled mood. “Go to the library or terrorize local motorists? Wipe down your windows? I don't know what the hell deal your boy has with windows, but he sure likes them clean.”

Castiel was sweating too hard to blush, but he faltered at the recent memory and put a little too much weight behind an elbow to Uri's ribs in between the pads, earning himself a glare. 

“So you're all watching him, even if Crowley isn't. Which I've yet to be convinced of.” 

“We all have better things to do than keep eyes on your mate.” Uri hip-checked Castiel to knock him off balance, trying to hook a knee out from under him immediately afterwards. “But, given what you told us, we need to know what he's up to. I've got someone tracking him discreetly. Hey, it's necessary.” As Castiel growled and raised a hand, “And no finger punches! We agreed after that thing with Raph's cornea.”

“By 'that thing' you mean when I had to wear an eye patch for a week?” Raph grumbled where he was on the floor, draining the dregs of his water bottle. “Remember how Gabe was? He wouldn't stop. Changed all my ringtones. I was in a shelter meeting protesting the possible introduction of caring euthanasia when we got serenaded by 2 Much Booty in Da Pants.”

“Aw, but you can't deny how much fun he had that week. So much joy. It was educational to see how a single person could mine so many jokes out of booty and seamen.” Luke ambled in, rubbing a towel through his shower-damp hair. “Watching Dean is necessary as you won't let me tap his phone or track his email, even though I thought I was being exceptionally virtuous by letting you know I was planning on it in the first place. You used to be cool, Cassie. It's not like I was going to record your phone sex and play it back over the PA system during the Christmas party.”

Raph groaned over on the floor. “Phone sex? In your office? Someone needs to steam-clean that shit before I go back in there. I knew your scent was getting stronger again.” 

Dean talked him through masturbating _once_ , one time, locked in his bathroom, Dean's deep gasps and the slick sounds of Dean's hand working himself eventually being the stimulation that made Castiel's climax crest. He grunted with effort as he wrenched his mind back into the fight and wrists out of Uri's grip. “I'm not having phone –”

Uri's glove popping him directly on the nose cut him off, bringing tears to his eyes, vision blurring. “You have to understand Dean's a security risk.”

He was lifted off his feet, off the mat before Uri tossed him down and wrestled him into a tangle of limbs, painfully holding him with a knee to his chest. That was it. Enough. They'd pushed him too far, and he felt his temper starting to peak. Castiel thrust himself up, wrapping his thighs around Uri's torso, twisting and slamming him down. He punched the mat beside Uri's jaw so hard that Uri flinched away, Castiel's knuckles burning with a deep sting that meant he'd feel it later. 

“He is not a risk. He is my mate and I trust him. You will stop watching him.” He pushed himself up from where he'd been straddling Uri's prone body, starting to rip off his gloves with his teeth. “All of you.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “That an order I hear? Are you kidding me?”

“Sure sounded like one to me.” Uri lifted his head off the mat, rubbing at the back of it, groaning. “You could just say you're done sparring. Don't feel it's mandatory to pile-drive me into the mat whenever you feel the need to make a point or quit for the day. Goddamn alphas.”

“As long as there's a chance they're hiring alphas as security . . .”

Uri ignored Castiel's outstretched hand offering to help him up and made his own way back to his feet, stretching out an ache in his spine with a groan. “. . . You get to kick our asses once a week for training purposes. I'm aware, because I'm your head of security and because I suggested it in the first place in my professional role as _security expert_. I'm willing to spar with you, not the frustration you're feeling over the control issues you're having with your honey dumpling.” He tore off his gloves and tossed them at Raph's head, who caught them, threw them right back and flipped him off. “I can already tell I'm bruised. Pamphlet time tomorrow.”

“I'm sorry. Again.” Castiel started unwrapping his wrists, aware his voice was dropping into a sulky mumble but unable to do a thing to stop it. “But I'm not having control issues with Dean. I'm not trying to control him at all.”

Luke clapped him on the shoulders with both hands for a quick massage, which would've been welcome with anyone else, but Luke had a way of finding all Castiel's sensitive spots to dig his thumbs directly into. “Sure you're not. But if he's unwilling to involve us, at least tell him to call Crowley. Get it over with. Let's find out what that fat fuck wants, I swear he looks more like a turd rolled in fresh pube clippings every time I see him.”

Castiel closed his eyes on a wince as Luke found a fresh bump to torture. “I hate the idea of leaving him in a room with MacLeod, now I've met him and seen how he operates. I know Dean can take care of himself, but – I can't describe it. I'd throw myself in front of a truck for him in a heartbeat, fight a dragon, there is literally nothing I wouldn't do. How am I supposed to sit back and do nothing while my mate's being pressured into agreeing to God only knows what by that, that . . .”

“Assbutt,” Uri said a split second after Raph, as Luke leaned forward to murmur into Castiel's ear. 

“You do it in the knowledge that, wherever Sam Winchester is, we'll find him, and that there's no record of his arrest so all that bullshit about pressing charges is exactly that so far, a giant steaming pile covered in flies. You do it in the understanding that we're weeks away from connecting all the dots to bring that jackhole to his knees and that the last thing you can do is allow your now, unfortunately, tender heart to get in the way.”

Raph finally got the energy together to pull himself into a sitting posture. “You do it for your mother.”

They were all silent for a moment. Luke patted Castiel on the shoulders he was done therapeutically tormenting. “Anyway, you need to get home and start power-washing the cum stains. I think it's about time we got to meet your mate. Right, guys? Takeout at Cassie's tonight?”

“What? No.” Castiel shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

Raph grinned, “Ashamed of us?”

“Unquestionably.”

Uri tilted his head at Castiel. “We should meet him. It's been weeks.”

“But it's a special evening.”

Luke narrowed his eyes at Castiel, calculating and suspicious, giving a dramatic dry heave the second he figured out why Castiel was planning something. 

“Ugh, revolting. You disgust me.” He turned to stalk out of the room. “Gross. Perverting something so pure with sentiment.”

Castiel gathered up his hand wraps, water bottle and gloves, grabbing his towel from the corner of the mats to sling over his shoulder as Uri bemusedly watched Luke go. 

“What jumped up his butt?”

Raph checked something on his phone and nodded. “It's a month today since the APC raid and since Cassie's mate fell from heaven to swoon into his arms, Cupid's arrow striking true, yadda yadda. You know how he gets.”

“I wanted to surprise Dean with something to mark the occasion. Something,” Castiel cleared his throat, still unused to discussing anything regarding relationships with his brothers. “Well. Romantic, I suppose. I'm drawing a blank and the internet's been very little help. Diamonds are apparently immoral, candles create localized air pollution, and scattering rose petals seems ecologically wasteful and leads to concerns over stray thorns.” He cleared his throat again, stared at the floor. “Any, um, ideas?”

“Nope.” Raph shook his head and started off towards the showers. “The revelation about the phone sex was already too much information. Consider my towel well and truly thrown, figure it out yourself.”

“Don't worry, we'll come up with something.” Uri walked shoulder to shoulder with Castiel behind Raph. The top floor of Jim's was tricked out just for them, as much of a home as they'd ever shared, occasional grunts, smacks and rhythmic punches floating up from the boxing gym on the floor below. “What's he into? Ginger likes me to dremel all the dead skin off her feet while she drinks champagne, then paint her toenails different colors. I'm pretty good at it. I can do flowers.”

Castiel smiled at the idea of his heavily-built oldest brother daintily decorating his wife's toes. “Dean likes burgers, and books. Music, but I don't know anything about that.”

“No, you really don't.”

“He likes coffee. A special coffee cup wouldn't be much of a gift. Unless it was one of those heat-retaining ones, but I left it too late to order one on time.” He ignored Uri's mutter of 'Thank God' and continued. “He's a good cook and seems to enjoy it, but I suppose I don't much like the idea of buying him kitchenware in an effort to be romantic.”

Uri snorted. “Good instinct. I bought Ginger a fancy pan set once. She'd even mentioned it to me, but apparently that was a conversation, not a hint.” 

“I know he'd like a car but I'd rather he chose his own.”

“Anything else?”

“Hm. Pie?” Cas stretched out his hand, two fingers looking like they were beginning to swell from where he'd punched the floor. A foolish lapse of control. “We talked about food the first time we went out to eat. He said something about liking pie more than cake, because cake never lives up to its visual promise but pie always does.”

“There you go. Buy him a pie and don't try to eat any of it yourself. You're done. Instant romance.”

“You think?” Castiel didn't think it seemed like much, but Uri had been in a successful relationship longer than any of them. 

“I don't know. Stick a bow on it first. Get some Reddi-wip for him to have with it so you can use it creatively back in the bedroom later on.”

“How would we – Ohh. I see. Interesting.” 

Dean had put some weight on, losing the unnatural ribbiness he'd had after the center, and he looked incredible spread naked across the bed, heavy and ripe, skin freckled and glowing in the lamp light, the scent of him drawing Castiel close and desperate for a taste. The amount of areas Castiel could think of sucking cream off to Dean's moans and curses was near-infinite and he could almost feel the fingers tight in his hair, holding him wherever he was, Dean's deep voice urging more. A throb started low in his groin as Uri made a face at catching his rising scent.

“You're welcome, and make sure you use extra gel in the shower if you're hitting the store on the way home. Nobody needs your funk stinking up the place when they're trying to choose fresh produce. You're like the opposite of the stuff they pump around the store to get people buying.”

“They do that? They don't do that.”

“Sure do. Like that freshly-baked bread scent.”

“They have an in-store bakery. It's where I'm going to go for the pie.”

Uri shook his head. “The scent's fake and designed to stimulate impulse purchases, according to Ginger. Trust that what you're putting out now is not going to have the same effect.”

Castiel habitually showered with scent blockers away from home, used them in his hand sanitizer throughout the day, reapplying them in his deodorant after lunch and requesting their use in the laundry service he used for work clothes. Castiel knew his natural scent said too much that contradicted the public persona he was trying to maintain, and he'd hit on a routine that allowed him to keep it more or less under control, for all of their safety. Fooling everyone that he was the mildest alpha of their acquaintance meant people usually accepted his excuses for scrapes or bruises when he claimed natural clumsiness, giving no reason for suspicion, because why would a relatively small alpha with a boring job, a dull scent and a crooked tie ever have any reason to get into physical fights? His full scent marked him as a potential threat. He had to control it.

The blockers allowed some control until Dean. It was just another way he'd been unprepared to meet a mate like Dean, an illustration in how much caution and preparation his natural instincts would override once they'd hit. He _wanted_ to go hunting for his mate's gift with every molecule of desire dripping from every pore. He wanted it known that waiting at home for him was someone rare and strong enough to handle a powerful alpha like him, someone who could take everything Castiel had to offer and demand more. He wanted to return to Dean covered in need, just as he did every evening in his office bathroom where he'd try to scrub the blockers from his skin before driving home too fast.

Dean had to know something was up with his scent. He hadn't said anything so far. There was so much they never talked about.

They'd reached the showers, Raph splashing and humming something tunelessly to himself in one cubicle down the row. Uri dropped his stuff on the benches and squeezed Castiel's shoulder before sniffing and grimacing at his hand and wiping it off on his sweats.

“Listen, Tiny, Dean may not realize it, but he's family. If you trust him, we do. You can't keep us away forever.”

“He's dealing with a lot. It doesn't seem fair to introduce him to people who are spying on him, and planning to lie to him as much as his mate already is.”

“I know.” Uri shrugged. “If I can keep it from Ginger for close on fifteen years, you can manage beyond a month or two. It doesn't mean you don't love him. It's for their protection. It becomes habit.”

“I don't want it to.”

“None of us do. But what're you gonna do? It's family legacy.”

Castiel pulled his workout shirt off over his head, minding his sore fingers, rolling his eyes as Uri pulled a face and took several steps back. 

“Thank you, yes. I'll wash thoroughly. The mission first, I know.”

“For our mothers.”

It was all any of them ever had to say to ensure compliance. Castiel was no different, alpha or not.

–

Dean called two minutes after Castiel got out of the shower, and he'd thrown clothes on over his wet skin in his rush to get to Dean. He'd pulled up close on ten minutes later where Dean was standing outside the restaurant waiting for him, aware he'd jumped the gun on a couple of red lights on his way over, automated tickets possibly already working their way through the system towards him. Dean slumped into the passenger seat as he entered the car, looking tired and drawn, barely glancing Castiel's way.

“Hi. Thanks.”

“No problem. Would you like to drive?”

“No.” Dean's posture and scent were off, his body language as closed as it'd been those first few days. “Let's just go ho– back to the apartment.” 

“Of course.”

Dean didn't put the radio on, which he always did each time they'd driven together. He stared out the window instead at the passing stores, people on the sidewalks, at the park that separated their neighborhood from the center of the small city. Castiel chewed his lip and concentrated on the road. 

“What happened to your hand?”

Dean was frowning at the steering wheel and the two middle fingers on Castiel's right hand, that Raph almost had to sit on him to get strapped up before Castiel raced off to meet Dean. “It's what happens if I skip the gym too much. I got tired, over-balanced and missed a swing at a punch bag. Hit the wall instead. Doesn't hurt, it's a precaution.”

“You and walls, man.”

Castiel vividly recalled the spike of humiliation he'd felt on walking Dean into the bedroom wall on their way to the mating bed. That day a hormonal monsoon carried him through it before he'd berated himself too much, but his face heated at the memory and he ground his teeth together, making himself take the opportunity offered to him. 

“I'm somewhat accident prone, it's never serious. You'll get used to it.”

“Great.”

They sat in crushing silence a couple of minutes longer before Castiel tried. “Would it help to discuss whatever's happened?”

“No.”

“Okay. Should I be worried?” 

“Don't know.” Dean continued to stare out the window, his elbow propped on his door, hand folded into a fist, knuckles pressed against his mouth as if he was physically holding back words. “Doubt it.”

“Very well.” There wasn't much else he could do or say, other than push someone who was broadcasting loud and clear, even to someone as tone-deaf as Castiel, that they wanted to be left alone. “I'm here if you change your mind and would like to talk.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“Of course, Dean.”

The tension holding Dean rigid as as a statue didn't begin to relax until they entered their building's underground garage, which was when Dean finally let out a breath and dropped his head down, working aches out of his neck. Castiel pulled into one of his two parking spots, cutting the engine and turning to Dean, who gave him a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes. 

“It's not a big deal and I don't want to talk about it, but I appreciate you coming to pick me up.”

“Any time. I'm certain you'd do the same for me.”

Dean looked somewhat surprised. “I would. Hadn't thought about it, but yeah. In a heartbeat.” He opened his door and climbed out. “Need to get that license first, though.”

Castiel followed suit, then an impulse struck him, on how to perhaps lighten Dean's mood. He leaned on the car's roof, letting himself drink in how handsome his mate was. It seemed bizarre that he'd always imagined how, in the unlikely event he ever matched with another person, it'd be a petite dark-haired woman, all curves and softness, gentle in voice and spirit. That he and Dean faced future adversity was beyond doubt, but that their match was true seemed manifestly obvious and as if it should've been clear Dean was what he wanted for himself all along.

“And you require a ride. Have you given any more thought to what type of car you'd like? If you have, I thought perhaps we could go take a look at some, sometime soon. Next week?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, actually.” They walked together towards the garage's elevators, Dean reaching the call button first. “Although I'm not going to say no to a Lamborghini, I thought, maybe . . . just tell me if it's out of the question, though. Okay?” 

“Alright, but I can't imagine anything that might be.” 

Castiel followed Dean into the elevator once it arrived, avoiding looking at the emergency stop button and a sudden fantasy about halting their upward journey to push himself into Dean's arms. Dean's demeanor did seem to be improving, his expression more open as he slouched against the elevator wall in that way he had, like he was the cool kid at school with soft-pack smokes rolled in his sleeve and a motorbike out front. 

“I'd like something vintage, and learn how to drive stick. I was supposed to have my dad's Impala, was gonna rebuild it, but. Anyway. Something older with personality would be nice. Not that your Prius isn't –” He smiled, and it lit up his eyes, making Castiel's breath catch in his throat. “Shit. I was going to say likable in its own way, but I can't even lie. It has all the personality of styrofoam.”

Castiel didn't take offense. The Prius was a sensible choice, nothing else. “Which year? The Impala.”

“Sixty-seven.”

Castiel nodded. “Popular car, there's lots out there. I'm sure we could find one fairly easily. Although it's tough to beat a sixty-four GTO for sixties muscle. But if it's a Chevvy with personality you want, driving a sixty-nine Camaro's like trying to tame a bucking horse while blindfolded with a rocket thruster strapped to your butt. We should make some calls, see what's out there.”

Dean laughed once, incredulous, like he couldn't believe it. “Seriously? You know cars?”

“A little.” Castiel learned cars around the same time most people were learning basic self-care. He shouldn't have gone into much detail but it'd been automatic, an opinion earned by experience, and one he couldn't exactly take back.

“Your wilder days again?”

“I suppose so, yes.” 

His mate was looking at him like he'd never seen Castiel before. Castiel watched as Dean leaned past him, too close, hitting the emergency stop button as if he was somehow acting out Castiel's fantasy by intuition alone. Then Dean placed his hands either side of Castiel's face against the elevator wall, his proximity forcing Castiel to decide whether to back up or press against Dean's chest. Given Dean's stern expression, a hint of threat to it that he didn't want to provoke, Castiel chose the former. 

“I don't know you.”

Castiel tried to give Dean a reassuring smile. “It takes time. We're getting there.”

“No, Cas. I mean, I don't know you at all. I don't know your family, your history, what you were like as a kid. I don't even know your birthday or if you have a middle name.” Dean's line of sight dropped to Castiel's mouth. “I know that you telling me what it's like to drive a Camaro is turning me the fuck on, but that's pretty much all I'm sure of right now, and it's messing with my goddamn head.”

There were two options that Castiel could see. The first was to use this as a chance to have a real conversation with his mate, to start building their relationship beyond the bond they shared. Or he could take up the invitation Dean's pheromones were starting to project and lean into Dean, push his tongue into Dean's mouth and push Dean's body against the elevator wall to take what he was offered. 

His mouth decided on a surprise alternative. “It's James.”

Dean's eyes lifted from where they were staring at Castiel's lips. “What?”

“My middle name. Is James.”

“Oh.” Dean's pupils had dilated. Castiel was sure his own had, too. “That's Sam's middle name.”

“Oh. Coincidence.”

“Yeah.”

The spell lasted another second before it broke and they moved at the same time to shove their mouths together, teeth and noses bumping, gasping into each other with the scorching heat of it as Dean grabbed at Castiel's head, fingers twisting in his hair. Dean's taste, as it always did, gave fuel to the fire rising in Castiel's blood, pounding around his system and rushing to his cock as he grabbed Dean's hips to pull him closer. 

The annihilating flood of want was undeniable. There was something about Dean's slight advantage in height, at how he'd force Castiel's mouth open under his own, how hard Castiel would have to work at dominating the kiss as much as his instincts demanded, that made every kiss with Dean more intense than any he'd experienced before. He had Dean straddling his thigh, grinding it upwards against the heavy swelling in Dean's jeans as his own erection throbbed angrily through his pants against the palm of Dean's hand. Castiel was trying to work a hand down the back of Dean's jeans and to suck Dean's tongue into his mouth as the speaker crackled into life on the button panel next to them. 

_“Uh, Mr. Novak? Mr. Winchester? I'm, uh, sorry to . . . This is Lisa from Security. At the front desk.”_

They broke the kiss, breathing hard, Dean's forehead hot against Castiel's as he squeezed Castiel cock once more, then removed his hand and quietly cursed. Castiel sighed, rubbing his thumb affectionately and very much regretfully along Dean's jaw before he withdraw his thigh and tried the best he could to hide his erection by picking up his gym bag from the floor, not daring to look at where he knew the security camera was.

“My apologies, Lisa. Yes. We'll . . . yes.”

_“It's just it's a nice Sunday afternoon so the building's pretty busy with residents going in and out. We can't have an elevator tied up for . . . however long you might require.”_

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose before reaching out to hit the button for their floor, the elevator lurching back into motion. “Yeah. Sorry about the free show.”

_“All part of the job, Mr. Winchester.”_

They didn't look at each other for the remaining few seconds it took to reach their floor, but Dean started chuckling to himself as the doors slid open, raising his head to give the camera a wink before he exited. “That poor woman.”

“I'm sure she's seen worse.”

“Oh, totally. If we'd done what I wanted to, it would've been a video I'd need my own private copy of, if you know what I'm sayin'.”

“You had specific activities in mind?”

“Yep.” Dean grinned and licked his bottom lip. “They mostly involved me on my knees.”

Castiel dropped the keys he was trying to open their front door with and Dean smirked, scooped them up and moved Castiel out the way with his hip to open the door and press a kiss into Castiel's neck. “C'mon. Let's finish what we started.”

He didn't allow Castiel to enter the apartment beyond their hallway, pushing Castiel against the wall, the small room darkening before brightening again as Dean closed the door behind them and the hall lights clicked on. Castiel watched, speechless with want as Dean threw the gym bag somewhere behind him and took hold of Castiel's hips, dropping gracefully to his knees, sliding both his hands down to Castiel's knees and back up to lie either side of his fly. 

“I don't have a thing about doing it in public. Not exactly.” Dean leaned forward to brush such a delicate kiss against the bulging front of Castiel's pants that Castiel barely felt it, a throb of awareness reverberating through him regardless. “Actually getting caught out is embarrassing as hell.”

Dean raised his hands to pop Castiel's waist button, lifting his chin to look up along the length of Castiel's torso and into his eyes. “But part of me loves the idea that people should see me like this. Where I'm supposed to be. Ready to take care of my Alpha's needs.”

Castiel groaned Dean's name as Dean rubbed his face against the length of Castiel's erection through his pants and pressed more kisses there before slowly beginning to draw down his zipper. Dean had taken Castiel into his mouth before on several occasions, but always in bed, passionately and as a prelude to intercourse, never like this, so submissively, so docile and doting. It was incredibly arousing and all Castiel could do was repeat his mate's name again in a broken whisper as he touched Dean's face with shaky fingertips.

“I have my own needs, but you always look after them first. With your mouth, your hands,” Dean turned his face to the side to catch Castiel's fingertips with his mouth, kissing over each one, another kiss against the strapping on his sore fingers as he finished unzipping Castiel's pants and tugged them down a few inches along with his underwear. “But your dick, Cas. I don't think you have any idea how beautiful your dick is. It's like the rest of you, just, goddamn gorgeous.”

Castiel managed to remember to swallow before he drooled down his shirt, looking open-mouthed down at Dean in stunned arousal as Dean's deft fingers reached into his boxers to stroke and lift him out. Cupping his balls with a thumb brushing over them, the other hand wrapped around his base as Dean looked up at him and gently kissed his cock, which pulsed and flexed against Dean's lips. Castiel's knees wavered as he groaned, and Dean smiled as he used his hand to slowly stroke Castiel's cock up and down.

“You doin' okay?”

“Never better.” 

His voice was dry as the desert, his moan more of a croak as Dean closed his eyes as if in bliss to nuzzle his face and lips along Castiel's length. Castiel couldn't remember a time oral sex had aroused him to such a degree before, and Dean hadn't opened his mouth on him yet. 

“Is there anything you like? Anything in particular you want?”

“Just you.” Castiel traced the outline of Dean's mouth with his thumbs, running his fingers along the underside of Dean's jaw. “Your mouth. Please, Dean.”

Dean's eyes twinkled up at him in the low light, and his voice was so deep as he answered that Castiel felt it everywhere. “Yes, Alpha.”

Castiel was certain his heart stuttered in his chest at the first touch of Dean's open mouth closing over his tip to suckle, every mote of his being suddenly concentrating on that scant inch of _wet_ and _warm_ as he gasped, closed his eyes and clenched his hands over where his pants were bunched up around his upper thighs. The sensation of Dean's tongue exploring him, teasing along the ridge of his cock and under the tip, of Dean's mouth enclosing him further by another inch, had him moaning and shifting underneath Dean's hands. The touch of tongue at his slit and Dean's moan on discovering where he had Castiel leaking for him was so profoundly pleasurable that Castiel growled out a rare curse word, a shudder running through him that Dean must've felt under his palms. 

“Mmf.” 

Dean's left hand grabbed his and directed it to Dean's head, and Castiel automatically spread his fingers through the soft bristles of Dean's hair. “Yes? Like this? Both?”

“Uh-hunm.” 

Dean nodded and grunted around Castiel's cock, a sharp stimulation that made Castiel's head spin before more of the beautifully tight, warm, damp sleeve of Dean's lips and mouth took him deeper. Castiel fanned his fingers through Dean's hair, the silken spikes barely grown out after a trip to the barber two weeks back, hardly enough there to grip, but it wouldn't have made a difference. Dean was entirely in control, had all the power over every one of Castiel's reactions, prompting Castiel to gasp and groan as Dean pulled away and sucked deep before working his mouth down further than before. 

“It's s-so good, you feel so good.” Castiel stroked his hands through Dean's hair, petting on him, staring down at where his mate's mouth was stretched around him. “It's never been like this before, never felt this good . . .”

Even on his knees with his mouth full, Dean could shoot Castiel a glare that made it crystal clear now was not the time to compare Dean to others, even in a complimentary sense. Then Dean closed his eyes and bobbed his head, building a rhythm and hollowing his cheeks on every backwards stroke, slurping and moaning his own gratification as he took Castiel deeper. Castiel's eyes rolled back in their sockets so fast he got dizzy for a moment, an unbelievable amount of pleasure building from that one point on his body and from where Dean's fingers were wrapped around and shifting over the slight swelling at the base of his cock.

He could feel the heat rising through Dean's short hair where his mate was working to satisfy him. Dean's tongue swirled all around him after every suckle, before the tight circle of Dean's lips would stroke down to engulf him again in the perfect damp heat of Dean's mouth, and it was provoking such acute bliss that he could feel sweat breaking out all over his body at the effort to hold his hips still, could feel the build-up of intense pressure already beginning to grow each time Dean's lips pushed back and forth over the ridge of his straining cock.

“Dean. I'm going to – oh, _God_ , please, I will ejaculate soon, you don't have to –” 

Dean pulled off Castiel's cock with a wet pop, stared directly up at him as he worked his hand steadily, damp mouth pink and swollen. “I want it.”

Dean swallowed him back down to the point where Dean's lips were touching his knuckles, his grunts and moans around Castiel turning more hungry as his hand left Castiel's hip. Castiel could feel his orgasm building close to the point of no return, nerves electrified, heart pounding, every muscle in him starting to clench in preparation as his body starting to shake, and he opened his eyes to look down at where Dean's shoulder was moving, Dean's hand shoved into the front of his jeans as he gasped then sucked so hard Castiel felt it deep in the back of his tightening balls. He keened desperately in the back of his throat at the unbearable pressure and need for release into Dean, Dean's mouth, Dean's throat, his mate who wanted it, wanted _him,_ please, _please,_ yes, yes, _yes –_

With a sharp cry, his climax burst its banks, shaking Castiel to his core. Dean moaned loud in approval, sucking and swallowing him down as Castiel gasped and started to ride out a surging pleasure. Dean's hand guided him to rock his hips through it, every pulse of ejaculation accepted greedily into Dean's mouth, satisfying on a primal level that made Castiel want to force his cock to the back of Dean's throat, to get as deep as he could. Instead he started to shudder as the peak moved on, slowing the movement of his hips, stroking over Dean's face with trembling fingers. 

“Dean . . . what can I, please, allow me to –”

“Nmn.” Dean let Castiel's cock slip out from his mouth, nuzzling his face into Castiel's groin, the damp length of him hot and heavy against Dean's cheek as Dean breathed him in, panted and worked his arm faster where he was stroking himself. “No, m'close, so close. Fuck. Oh, f-fuck, Cas . . .”

Instinct was overcoming his admittedly addled senses as Castiel tightened the fingers of the one hand still in Dean's hair, tilting Dean's face until he could look up from under heavy eyelids into Castiel's eyes. 

“Come for your Alpha, little omega.”

The shocked sound of Dean's orgasm echoed in Castiel's ears, loud and harsh as if it'd been forced out of him, Dean's eyes closing and his body seizing on his knees as he shot over his hand up to splatter at the base of his throat. Castiel rubbed his thumb over Dean's forehead, crooned meaningless approval as Dean gasped and rocked backwards on his heels, shooting again with another shout to hit his shirt buttons, a quake rippling through him as Castiel stroked his sweat-damp hair and felt the jolt as Dean moaned and ejaculated again. 

“Oh, oh, oh shit. _Shit._ Oh. Goddammit, Cas.” Dean gasped for breath and started to laugh, shivering as he squeezed his cock one last time. “That's a dangerous game you were playing there, buddy. 'Little omega'? Fuck.”

Castiel finally allowed his legs to give out as he slid down the wall to join Dean on the floor of their hallway, both of them sweaty and rumpled. “I realize that now. But it worked?”

“And how. Jesus.” 

Castiel dipped a fingertip into the ejaculate on Dean's throat, rubbing it into his bite mark there before leaning in to softly kiss it. Dean canted his head to allow him access. “It would've been the world's angriest orgasm if it hadn't worked out, but, _damn,_ it hit exactly where it needed to.”

“I'm glad. And relieved. In more ways than one.” 

Castiel couldn't stop touching Dean. He rubbed a thumb across Dean's bottom lip, cupping Dean's bristled jaw, allowing the desire to kiss Dean and taste himself on Dean's tongue build until he couldn't hold back any longer. It hadn't been the most technically accomplished fellatio he'd ever received, but it was the most ardent and heated by a wide margin. Castiel couldn't remember a time he'd felt more wanted, or received more pleasure from the simplicity of a mouth on him. “You are a man of hidden talents, Dean Winchester.”

“I don't know about that.”

Which turned out to be Castiel's breaking point. He pushed against Dean, captured his mouth soft at first as they curled together on the hallway floor. It was a slow kiss, sweet and deep, Dean's breath heavily scented with Castiel's cum as he pulled away to rub his nose against Castiel's. 

“I don't know if you're aware, but it's a month today since I got here. I wanted to get my mouth on you, didn't want a whole month to go by without it. And, if you swear you'll keep calling me 'little omega' whenever I get on my knees for you, I'd kinda be into not going a week without it from now on.”

Castiel's cock gave an exhausted twitch of approval. “It worked that well – ?” 

He had't finished his sentence before Dean answered. “Hell, yeah, it did.”

“Then, yes, I'm certain we can work out some type of schedule.”

“Yeah? Wow.” Dean's smile would be the death of him one day. “Looks like I'm mated to a genuine altruist.”

The hallway floor, polished hardwood now warmed up and somehow slightly sticky against his half-naked buttocks, wasn't the best place to continue their tangled embrace, but Castiel couldn't bring himself to suggest that they move as he let his forehead rest on Dean's shoulder. “I do realize it's a month since your arrival. When you called I'd already planned to head to the store to get you, well, it's silly, really . . .”

Dean was nuzzling into Castiel's head, fingers playing in his hair. “Get me what?”

“Please bear in mind I'm no good at gift-giving. To the point of causing offense on occasion.” 

Dean was going to laugh in his face. Or possibly be disappointed he'd mated with someone who thought grocery store baked goods were an appropriate gift where most alphas would probably rely on jewelry or lingerie. A gift certificate to a spa or some precious keepsake. What had he been thinking? He shouldn't have said anything, should've let Dean think Castiel hadn't thought to get him anything at all. Too late now. 

“I think I can deal. What were you gonna get me?”

“As you've pointed out, we don't know each other that well. The only thing I could think of that I was certain you liked was . . . pie.”

“Pie?” Dean sat up from where they'd been hunched against each other. 

“Yes. You told me pie never disappoints.”

“You were going to buy me a pie?”

Dean's expression was strangely blank, and Castiel winced. “Yes. Probably more than one, I wasn't sure which kind you'd like best. I'm sorry. It made sense at the time. I'm not very experienced in romance.”

The kiss Dean landed on his wasn't sweet or soft. It was ferocious, and he was grabbed, hauled up to his feet by his shirt, his breath stammering out in over-sensitivity as Dean tugged Castiel's pants back up and swiftly tucked Castiel's genitalia back in with a shade too much haste. “What? Dean, I'm, ah, what are you, ooh, careful –”

“You're heading out. I want my goddamn pie.” 

“Now?” Castiel was planning on crawling into a pair of fresh boxers then having a nap on the couch with the TV on.

“Yep.” Another kiss, just as savage, teeth pulling at his bottom lip before Dean grinned at him, twin blotches of red high on his cheeks, nose covered in freckles, eyes lit up from within. “I figured you were going to say you'd planned to get me something totally lame like a dozen roses, but you were going to buy me a stack of pie. You are so, I don't know, I don't have the word for it . . .” 

Castiel couldn't precisely parse Dean's reaction, but it seemed positive, if the kissing was anything to go by. “I'm peculiar. I've been told that before.”

Dean drew Castiel close again, and Castiel realized he was going to have to change at least his shirt to go to the store as it had to have semen stains daubed on it from the way Dean was pressing up against him. 

“You are. You _are_ peculiar. It's one of the things I –” Dean sighed and touched his forehead to Castiel's. “One of the things I love most about you.”

 _Oh._ Castiel felt his heart thump once, harder. “Oh. Dean.”

“Don't overreact. But, yeah. Okay,” Castiel found himself being gripped by the shoulders and directed at the door. “I'm serious. You need to get going. I demand my romance pie.”

“I should change my shirt. I must be approaching a level of pungency unsuitable for public areas.”

Dean squinted at the few damp patches on Castiel's torso as he tucked himself back into his jeans. 

“Eh, there's not that much. They're marks of honor, wear them with pride. Is your wallet in here?” Dean snagged Castiel's gym bag from the floor and hefted it at him. “Leavest thou the cave to hunt, mighty Alpha, for your mate requireth sustenance.”

Castiel dug his wallet out of the inside pocket of his bag. “Fine. I suppose I can be quick about it and not linger long enough to offend, if you insist.”

“I do.” 

“Then I suppose I have little choice in the matter.”

“You don't. Just the pies, I already got us a couple of ribeyes for later. I had this whole dinner for two seduction thing planned, which you jump-started early by talking all sexy about cars.” Dean reached out, scratched at a patch of drying cum on Castiel's shirt with a fingernail. “I'm starting to, though. Y'know. Feel that.”

Extraordinary joy rippled through Castiel at hearing even something so vaguely put, squeezing his lungs, his throat. He wondered how far he could go in return, how much he could say to express an emotion Dean didn't seem entirely comfortable with. Dean had opened up to him, a glimmer of light. He had to measure his response to match, something Castiel was aware he was bad at.

“It's how I feel. Too. Um.”

“Priorities, Cas. You're great, but,” Dean shoved him bodily out the door with a pat to his ass. “Chick flick moments later. Pie first.” 

The door closed in his face with a click, confirming that Dean wasn't ready yet to discuss anything of serious depth, and Castiel found himself raising his sore hand to touch its surface with his fingers, where Dean stood beyond, just out of reach, hopefully aware to some degree that he was loved. 

Castiel physically subdued three trained betas in succession that morning without raising much of a sweat. He thought for a moment how amused his brothers would be over how it'd taken one omega twenty minutes to reduce Castiel to a shambolic, post-orgasmic mess, exiled from his own apartment and denied both a nap and the opportunity to fully pledge his heart until he'd proven his ability to provide.

Luke would've called him whipped. Castiel smiled to himself as he hit the call button for the elevator. The term was, of course, horribly offensive. 

But Luke would've been correct.


	7. Chapter 7

“Jeepers, mister, you weren't kidding.” 

Charlie dropped her messenger bag onto the couch as she walked towards the windows with wide eyes. Dean stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and tried not to feel too awkward. 

“It's not really my style but, yeah, the view's great.”

“The view? Eff the view, look at all this.” She was looking around at the designer furniture and at the giant entertainment system like she was in a museum and not permitted to touch anything. Dean related. “Is there a spare room? Because if there is, you got yourself a new roomie.”

There was, but it had Sam's name all over it as far as Dean was concerned, so he shrugged and changed the subject. “Coffee? Cas has this machine that roasts and grinds the beans before brewing. He didn't even know how to use it.”

“Coffee's now on my list of new things that weren't worth waiting for. You go for it, though. God, it's all so . . .”

Charlie looked even more intimidated by the kitchen. Dean had lived there a month, and related _hard_. “It is. Soda?”

“Sure. Does this mean you're, like, a one-percenter? Shouldn't you have a butler for bringing us beverages?”

“I have no idea, but, no, no butler. Don't know what I'd do with my time if we did have one.” Dean emptied fresh beans from the refrigerator into the coffee machine then hit a few buttons. “The only reason I figured out this thing was because I got bored enough to read the manual.” 

“However. It's your duty as a rich person to provide employment for us proles.” Charlie sat on one of the bar stools by the big kitchen island and twirled around a few times. “You should hire me for something. No butling, though. Or cleaning. I'm basically not great with manual labor.”

“You're looking for a job? We've got A&W, Cas's Dr. Pepper, water or OJ with the bits in. He hasn't explained why, but the bits are somehow important.”

“That's your refrigerator? Screw the spare room, there's space in there. A&W, thanks, and yeah, I guess I am. Alix and Michelle are definitely not one-percenters, I can't keep mooching off them forever.”

“You want a glass and ice?”

“No, this is good.” 

She popped the tab on her can and slurped it. Dean leaned his ass back against the kitchen counter, the one made of a hard metal-stone hybrid so fancy he had no idea what it was, folded his arms, thought about what he was going to say and opened his mouth to apologize to Charlie again over what happened at brunch the same time she did exactly the same thing. She carried on like he hadn't said anything.

“Seriously, that was on me. My thinkmeat flipped its shit over a perceived threat. My counselor says oversensitivity and panic are commonplace responses to trauma. For a start, how rude, she was practically calling me normal. I personally feel like my responses are anything but 'common', Peg.”

“But you were safe?” Relief flooded into Dean. “I mentioned something to Cas when I got your text, and he thought you'd be okay. I didn't want to get into it, though.”

“I read up on it once I got home. Legally, sure, Kansas could demand I'm returned as I have no legitimate alpha in this state, so I'm still technically under their guardianship. And of course they'll want me back, because look at me.” Charlie took a big glug of soda then burped so loud and long it almost rattled the windows. “I'm an ethereal vision of exquisite omega loveliness. But there's been so much pushback from areas hosting displaced omegas that _have_ been located by their home states that it gets tied up in legal knots. There's already a giant backlog.”

“Yeah?” 

It felt like less of a weight being lifted, more like a dark curtain of worry being swept aside. Everything brightened. Dead felt his smile growing like it bubbled up from somewhere deep in his chest. 

“The worst that would happen is that I'd get interviewed in a local cop station then get placed under curfew where I currently am while waiting indefinitely. Which would suck, but. There's internet porn.”

“And you'll still be here.”

She smiled brightly. “Fapping incessantly. Hopefully until they change the law or I fall neck-first onto Rachel Maddow's canines.”

“Rachel Maddow lives in Colorado?” 

“Y'know, Dave, you could stand to let a fellow bitch enjoy her fantasies a few seconds before you crush them into the dirt.”

“Sorry. Fantasize away.” 

The coffee maker burbled a couple of discreet tones to politely let Dean know his coffee was ready. Every electrical appliance Dean experienced before would've just let him wallow in ignorance or beeped obnoxiously 'til he'd gotten a clue. He held up his hands in defeat and went to fetch himself a cup, uncomfortable as he'd always been with that word. 

_Bitch._

Even 'cunt' was easier to take. Something about it, the hard C and the aggression behind its use, streamlined the mental process Dean's mind went through before deciding to punch the three different assholes who'd used it on him directly in their stupid asshole faces. He'd bruised the crap outta his hand each time. Punching people hurt way more than he'd expected.

Dean got the point of reclaiming pejorative language. Had gotten it way before an earnest fourteen year old Sam tried to explain it to him during the world's most torturous apology over stuff said as an ignorant kid. The worst Sam would call Dean since had been 'jerk'. Dean could call Sam fucknut, knothead, shiteater, cum-for-brains, and all he'd get in return was 'jerk'. Hell, he'd call Sam a bitch over Skype and Sam'd make his pissed face because he didn't approve but didn't feel like it was his place to say, and Dean would laugh for five minutes because it was too easy.

He missed Sammy so fucking much.

That word was the only thing that crossed his dad's mind when Dean presented. Just the look on his face when the school nurse explained why Dean was out of class and had to go home. It was always the one thing apparent in John's expression every time Dean started feeling heat symptoms and had to say he'd be in his room for a few days. His father would look at him and it'd be clear all he could see was Dean forced onto his knees and held down, taking it. Like that was all being an omega meant. Being someone's bitch. 

He remembered his dad's voice, deep and gruff and slurring his words, explaining to Dean on his fifteenth birthday that, whether or not Dean turned out to be the Alpha his dad was hoping for instead of a beta like his mom had been, he'd be way better off finding himself a good beta woman, not some hard-to-please omega bitch who figured she was somethin' special. When all they were good for was takin' a knot.

“Where does Cas work, anyway?”

“Hm? What?” Dean lifted his head and looked over at Charlie. He'd almost forgotten she was there.

“I was talking about jobs?” She looked around the apartment again. “I wouldn't say no to working for somewhere that demands they get to house me in luxury. I need to start networking, I've got someone fixing me some ID on the DL so I can start freelancing. Michelle's a barista and Alix teaches Special Ed. They're great, but not so much with the professional hook-ups, and I need to start helping out.”

“Is that why you came over? To get work from Cas?”

It might've come out more sharply than Dean intended it to. He honestly meant it out of curiosity, nothing else, but it sounded all wistful, and hell if he knew why. Charlie's brows drew together. 

“No. Oh, boobear, you're a smooshy sensitive panda. I came over to see you, now we're BFFs. I figured we had to give it another shot after that whole brunch fiasco.”

“We could try it again sometime. If you wanted.”

Charlie gave him a scornful look. “Do I seem like the sort of person to willingly turn down food? Have we met?”

“We could head out for lunch, if you don't have plans. My treat.” 

The words seemed like they got clogged up in his throat. It was dumb, Dean knew it, but just the offer of taking someone out on the credit card given to him by Cas made him feel – well, he hadn't earned it. He'd never had much in the way of cash, but everything Dean had, every cent from before, he'd earned himself. He wasn't getting any further in looking for Sam, so maybe he should quit wasting time and think about finding some kind of work, even if anything he earned would be a pittance in comparison with Cas's bank account. 

Although it'd seem crazy to go work in a hardware store then return after his shift to sit in an apartment designed for people who'd never have to know which end of a wrench was which. But the money would be his, and he wouldn't have to feel like this. 

One of his few memories of his mom was her handing him five bucks at the dollar store and letting him run the aisles to get her anything he'd wanted for her birthday that day, because he was a big boy and had learned to count up to five. He couldn't recall what he'd picked out, but remembered how sweet she smelled and how big her baby-belly was as she'd hugged him and told him he'd done a good job.

At dinner, he'd been proud of himself over what he'd gotten his mom and told his dad, who said it wasn't Dean's money, that she'd bought those things. Dean just picked them out. It'd only be Dean's money when he was a man and earned it himself. It caused an argument and Dean cried because his mom had to buy her own gifts and that seemed so sad, not stopping 'til he was almost asleep that night, hiccuping, unable to breathe through his nose from all the snot. John tucked him in, brushed Dean's hair back from his forehead, and said it was a lesson. That it was his job as Dean's Alpha to teach him how the world worked. 

It was how he'd felt standing in a store two days before, looking to buy his mate some small gift and only having Cas's money to do it with. In the end, Cas hadn't bought him something big or expensive either, and was so endearing wanting to buy Dean a pie because he'd actually been listening to the crap Dean talked about. It'd been such a relief that Dean got stupid and blurted feelings. 

“Actually, I can totally treat this time because, you know what I could really go for?”

Dean barely knew her. If it wasn't mimosas and bacon, he was drawing a blank. “I have literally no clue.”

Charlie swung her legs around and got off the stool, going over to dig around in her bag to find a piece of paper that she returned to thrust at Dean. It was a printed flier, the kind that regular people got stuffed in their mailboxes. Dean didn't know where their mailbox was. He probably should. 

“Check it out – Gouda bacon cheebie combo with a Frosty, five dollars each.” Charlie snatched it back out of his hand and tucked it in her pocket. “Stick with me, baby. I got mad coupons.”

–

“One more.” Gabe's grin was approaching maniacal as he leaned over the table and hissed at Uri from between clenched teeth. “Just one, single, solitary nitpick further, and I will get Cassie to remove the giant stick up your ass and beat you around the head with it.”

Luke roused himself from a nap long enough to note that it sounded unsanitary and to offer to sell tickets. Uri griped over how idiotic it was to bitch at the person tasked with keeping them all safe for actually trying to do that. Castiel chewed two aspirin and wondered what the hell he'd done in a former life to get cursed with that specific set of accomplices. Raph pointed out that they'd banned Uri from picking too many holes in the plans under the Colossal Party Pooper accords of December 'Nineteen, and that it'd also been Major Bummer's fault they'd lost the water bag last time because he was too dumb under pressure to understand how a buckle works. At which point Michael finally lost his temper with them all, swiping their lunch pizzas off the table and onto the floor.

Luke cracked an eye open to look down at what remained of the pizza. “But what about the starving children in Africa –”

“Enough!” Michael's roar set even Castiel's teeth on edge. “That is enough.”

It'd been months since Michael used his Alpha voice on them. It didn't get under Castiel's skin too much, but Luke dragged his heels off the table and slouched into sitting upright while the others stared at the table and tried to look suitably chastised. 

“Need I remind you? Seven days. That's what we planned. Extra time for our biggest hit so far, considering everything that went wrong with our last job, and we can't complete a single planning session without the lot of you regressing to past behaviors. We are a tribe. We work as one towards our shared goal. What is it, exactly, that's too much for you all to comprehend? Tell me which precise part of that escapes your tiny little minds, and I'll illustrate it in full color diagram and permanently tattoo it in mirror image to your foreheads.”

Gabe was glaring across the table at Castiel, tilting his head towards Michael once he had Castiel's attention. Castiel sighed. Uri and Raph didn't like to stand up to Michael in one of his moods in case they got their ears chewed off, and past experience meant Luke and Gabe both knew they'd only manage to annoy him further. That Luke was keeping his mouth shut for the time being was miracle enough. Castiel cleared his throat and tried not to bristle or snarl in return as Michael focused all that simmering anger on him.

“What?”

“Listen to me. You refer to 'everything that went wrong last time', but all I can see is that we faced issues, improvised in the field and overcame obstacles. It's allowed us to become stronger and more experienced as a team. It was a success, and I'm not just saying that as someone with a higher personal stake in the outcome of the last mission than the rest of you.”

Michael didn't look mollified. “You're trying to tell me we're ready? You are looking me directly in the eye, and saying to me that we're ready to go in seven days. Is that what's happening?”

“I'm saying that we're all getting antsy over the wait, including you, and that it's clear Gabriel's come up with contingency plans on contingency plans that include a matrix on the decision making process within _further_ contingency plans. You can't deny he's been comprehensive, or that even Uri's struggling to go full Debbie Downwards.”

“Excuse me, I keep reminding you all that it's my job to assess risk. But, yes.” Uri gave Gabe a tight smile. “I suppose it's not as full of holes as your usual efforts.”

“Finally, a little recognition.” Gabe waved an invisible victory flag in the air as sarcastically as only he could. “Whoop-ee-do.”

Michael raised his eyebrows at Castiel in question, the eye contact between them going on too long for either of them to be comfortable with. It went against every instinct he had to submit, but Castiel had proven to himself time and time again he did not need to play at dominating Michael, and they were both a little too old to participate in such an obvious pissing contest. He lowered his eyes, feeling the rest of the room breathing a small sigh of relief. 

“We're ready. Either you trust me on that or you don't.”

“Seven days?”

He nodded to confirm. A single extra day could mean an omega going into a state-authorized mating that they could've avoided. That they took time between raids to disappear and go to ground, to recover and plan, weighed heavy enough on them all as it was, but it was necessary and made it far more likely they'd be able to help more in the long run. 

But all the documentation they'd managed to get their hands on suggested that Lydianstone's omegas were being mated to the highest bidders, rather than going through the approved matching algorithm intended to find them choices of various suitable partners. Although there was a good chance the amendment wouldn't last out the year, mating laws themselves were unlikely to be successfully challenged in court for a decade or more due to the legal and emotional mess involved in dissolving living bonds. 

A single omega lost to an arranged mating by Lydianstone centers was a person condemned to years of legalized assault by an alpha they'd never have chosen for themselves, any alpha wealthy enough to buy themselves a semi-permanent human sex toy. It could've happened to Dean. The idea made Castiel want to vomit. A single extra day was a day too far. 

Michael inclined his head. “Okay. It's a go for seven days,” and Luke growled out,

“Oh, fucknuggets. You need to grow a new pair, Mikey, I think yours are defective,” handing a cheerful-looking Gabe fifty dollars over some bet he'd just lost. Castiel found his eyes filling and blurring as he ached to hold Dean and as the others made pleased noises to each other. 

“Thank you. We've waited too long already. I can't promise you won't regret it, but considering what's at stake –”

“I know.” Michael patted Castiel on the shoulder. He probably meant it to be fatherly, but as usual it came off as patronizing. “For our mothers.”

 _And for Dean._ Castiel would've fought his way through fire that day if he'd known his mate was trapped in there relying on him to get out. Everyone else in the position Dean had been in deserved as much.

Which meant he had to return home that evening and convince Dean that he had a work-related trip in a week's time that Dean would not be able to accompany him on, when they were recently bonded and were likely to experience some discomfort in being physically separated beyond a few hours. At least until another couple of months had passed, since Dean wouldn't be having the heat that would've settled their bond into full maturity. 

It had to be some incredibly important financial issue that was confidential into the evening and beyond to the point that it could excuse Castiel's insistence that they test their boundaries so early. He couldn't think of a single lie that'd do it. Castiel groaned and put his head in his hands as his headache fought back against the aspirin. Facing twenty security guards simultaneously firing tasers at him from multiple angles would've been easier than dealing with this level of subterfuge. 

He needed advice from a master of prevarication and misrepresentation, a man they all trusted to organize a campaign of twisted logic, feints and bluffs, and who'd release tides of sabotage that prevented local law enforcement from getting in their way without doing any serious harm. The man who'd gleefully chirped “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here!” into their comms system as he hit whatever button needed to bypass overrides and set off every public security alarm in Lawrence the exact same time they'd hit APC.

“Gabriel? Got a moment?”

“For you, chickie? Always.” Gabe stopped zipping up his laptop case and held out a packet. “Twizzler?”

“No, thank you. It's about Dean. I need some advice.” 

“Ah. Well, now.” Gabe's face got several shades more interested as he sat down to throw an arm around Castiel's shoulders. “It's long overdue and should've come from Michael, but we all know I'm your favorite so it's best coming from me. So, when an Alpha and an omega love each other very much, they can have a special grown-up cuddle . . .” 

–

The afternoon escalated. It'd started with a stroll under the trees in a park into the city, and burgers with a new friend, and had somehow settled into . . . whatever this was. Dean squinted at the plans Charlie was drawing out in black marker on a bunch of notepad paper stapled together with the stapler they'd hunted down in Castiel's office. 

“Doesn't seem big enough. I swear that hallway was twice as long.”

She sat back to look at the plans again. “Not twice, but yeah. That'd mean another room. Here?”

“If we got the dimensions at all accurate.”

Charlie stood from where she'd been sitting to draw at the table. They stood together to look down at the plans, and she rested her head on his shoulder, the first real physical contact they'd had since the day in the truck. 

“Damn. Makes you wonder what the building was for before they stuck us in it.”

“It's creepy.” She shivered against him, and Dean put his arm around her. “What kind of architect designs a place with dual sets of separate points for access and egress, underground structures that function as secure mass holding cells, and fenced-in yards with wash-down points?”

“One that works for Hydra?” 

Charlie laughed. “You're not kidding. This is real evil overlord stuff, they even had us in an underground lair. What a total cliché.”

It'd taken Dean most of an hour before he'd opened up enough to mention Sam. They'd talked about stuff as they walked, not much, movies and TV, their families, how hard Kansas sucked, but it was when he found out that she knew computers to a legally-dubious degree that it sparked an idea she could help find his brother. At which point he'd cautiously explained about Sam and the DA. She'd become way overexcited about the chance to crack a new conspiracy. They'd headed back to the apartment as fast as they could, which on the bus wasn't that fast, where she'd taken him by the arm and pulled him down one of her rabbit holes with her. 

Looking in places online after reassuring Dean there was no way to trace her back to Castiel, Charlie couldn't find anything on Sam in official police or state custody records, no arrest record, nothing. So she'd rattled away at her keyboard for a few minutes before she confirmed Sam disembarked his flight in Topeka almost two months before, and that the only charges to his bank account since had been standing orders for rent and utilities.

Dean side-eyed Charlie for almost an hour after witnessing how little time and effort it'd taken her to get into Sam's bank account. He was also seriously considering recommending to Cas that he hire her for something, because someone needed to be supervising the shit outta that level of chaotic good. 

Message threads online continued to pull them spiraling downwards. There'd been omega-rights activists disappearing since the amendment was ratified. Lawyers entering OneFiveTwo states to volunteer their time and expertise, never booking into their hotel rooms. Family members who'd been hoping to help get their relatives to safety across state lines, unseen for weeks. There were no official custody records for any of them. Rumors and whispers seemed to imply that some of the processing centers were also being used to hold some of the disappeared, that the centers had secret units off-limits to their omegas. One association of centers in particular, Lydianstone, was a syndicate that seemed able to generate its own virtual chorus of suspicion and loathing, nobody entirely sure exactly which centers it controlled, as every one was branded separately and run as non-profits. 

Dean and Charlie's center was one of them. Some of the message threads suggested stuff about what happened to the omegas there were unnerving, sending Dean into himself, answering Charlie's questions and comments with grunts and nods as he stared at her screen without focusing on it and tried to keep calm.

“So.” She pulled her phone out and took a few photos of the rough plans they'd drawn up from what they could both remember about the center. “I'm starting a new thread, then we can see if what we've come up with matches with what the others remember.”

Dean was feeling increasingly uneasy about the whole thing. Too much coffee was making him jittery. “Is that a good idea? It could put Sam at risk if this gets back to me, especially if they're holding him somewhere nobody knows about. If they've got him, they can do whatever the fuck they want.”

“I know, but,” She shrugged helplessly. “I promise I've covered my tracks, and what else are we going to do? If this is some Hydra-level plot to monetize unmated omegas through shady quasi-governmental practices, we don't have an actual Captain Amer– Oh. Wait.”

Charlie grabbed Dean's arm and dug her skinny little fingers in like knives. Dean pulled his arm away and rubbed life back into it. “Jesus. What?”

“The Shadow Wing.”

She started flapping her hands back and forth, muttering 'holy frack, holy frack' to herself under her breath, while Dean wondered if he should offer her a paper bag to breathe into. 

“What about him?” 

“The Shadow Wing!”

“What? You think he's going to be our Cap?”

Charlie waved him out of her way as she almost threw herself at her laptop. “I have a hunch. Give me two . . . seconds . . . Yasss, I'm a legit genius. Feel free to commence worshiping me.”

Dean smiled. Charlie was good at lightening the mood. “Sure. Why?”

She pointed at her monitor screen. 

“The five centers he's hit have all, from the consensus online, been Lydianstone centers. He's not going after certain processing centers because they're easy targets or geographically accessible from wherever he's based, because there's three others that we thought he was going to go after if he was working in a pattern, but he didn't. He hit ours instead. Nobody figured it might be because of what organization was running it.” 

“He knows something's up with Lydianstone.”

“Yes!” She stretched out her fingers and cracked her knuckles. “And I'm going to help him figure it out.”

“How?” The day kept getting weirder. Dean was starting to want to go lie down in bed, pull the covers over his head, and not get out for a week or so. “How the hell are you planning to help out some vigilante when nobody knows who or where he is?”

“Don't know. There's places I can make it known online that hopefully he, or someone working with him, might pick up on.” She stared at the ceiling as she seemed to mull over any other options, then she gasped again, and looked directly at Dean. “And you!”

“Me? No. Me, nothing.” Dean was about to be done. He stopped looking over her shoulder and walked over to let himself fall onto the couch instead.

“You need to call MacLeod.”

Dean covered his face with both hands and tried to rub some life into his face. “No, I don't. I told you, I'm not risking Sam's safety.”

“But he wants to talk to you anyway. Let him think he's getting his way, and use the opportunity to ask him a few questions about stuff you thought was weird about the center. Or the guys who rescued us. I don't know, lie and tell him that the others called their leader 'the Shadow Wing' and you were wondering what that was all about. We'll figure it out before you meet up with him.”

“Okay, Charlie. You need to listen up.” Dean sat back up, propped his elbows on his knees, and looked her in the eye. “I get that this is important, but I need you to understand that nothing's as important to me as making sure Sam's safe. Not me, not you. Not even Cas.”

“Seriously?” Her expression went all tender. “But you love him.”

“Maybe. I don't know.”

“It's pretty obvious, Dean. You go all dreamy-eyed every time you mention him, and every time you pass anything in here that seems personal to him, you touch it and smile. You're a smitten kitten, sis.”

Denying it wasn't going to put that genie back in its bottle. “That's not the point. Cas is healthy and rich in a free state. He can look after himself. I'd never forgive myself if I did anything to put Sam in danger. He already risked too much for me.”

“But they're selling omegas!”

“We don't know that for sure.”

“And if we did?” Charlie closed her laptop and started cramming it in her bag, her cheeks flushed, brows drawn together. She looked so pissed. “If we were certain, would you willingly take a single risk to help out people stuck in the same situation we were both in? What if it was me, what if I was still there and some gross asshole decided they were going to buy me and mate me against my will? Hmm? Would that be worth risking Sam potentially getting a harsh look from one of his guards? I mean, shit, Dean.”

She'd started tearing up, her eyes flooded near to overflowing, making Dean feel like a total jerk. He got to his feet and took one of her wrists in his hand. "Hey. Hey, I didn't mean to . . . I'm sorry.”

She sniffed, left her bag on the table and leaned her forehead against his chest instead. Dean stroked up her back with a hand, feeling how slight she was under the layers of t-shirt and plaid, the bump of her bra strap. How her shoulders were shaking. 

“S'okay. It's just, first it feels like it's a good day and we're hanging and talking movies, and then all this, like, swamps me. Like I can't ever get away from it. It's why I need to find a job, my mind needs constant occupation or it tends to go to the dark places and make a home there.”

“Yeah. I get somethin' like that with worry over Sam. Every time I feel something good or happy because I'm here with Cas, it reminds me that Sam's in trouble and that he did it for me. Stuff being good or going well makes it worse. He's the one who should be shacked up in a nice place with someone who,” Dean knew Cas loved him. Was in love with him, something, Cas'd said it a couple times and it seemed real, felt real in the way Cas touched him or looked at him. It felt like something new and precious Dean wanted cradle to himself, close to his chest. “Someone awesome like Cas, not me. Didn't mean to take it out on you, though.” 

He let her pull away from him and Charlie gave him a wobbly smile, her nose all red.

“That's what besties are for. You know what we need?”

Dean looked down at a damp patch on his shirt and hoped like hell it was tears rather than whatever she was wiping off her nose onto her sleeve. “I don't know. Prolonged psychiatric analysis?”

“Well, duh, that, and beers.”

“Beers?”

She nodded. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. With the push and pull of emotional turbulence he'd been through that day, it felt to Dean like it should be at least coming up for eight and like the sun should be going down soon. Like Cas should be home from work so he could stop thinking about stuff for a good long while.

“I've heard beers go well with Chinese takeout.”

“Heavens to Murgatroyd, more junk food?” She grabbed her bag and swung it crossways over her body. “I actually love you, Dean Winchester. If you hadn't figured it out, this is permanent.” Charlie waggled her finger back and forth between the two of them. “You and me, dude. It's a family thing. We're bound by blood.”

Dean was patting his pockets to make sure he had his phone, keys and wallet. He felt like they'd earned a few beers, and knew Cas wouldn't mind covering it. Hell, he seemed to actively want Dean to spend his money. Maybe Dean just had to get the fuck over himself and start splurging. “And all I had to do was promise you noodles.”

“Pretty much. And your rockin' apartment doesn't hurt. C'mon, bro.” Charlie tucked her arm into his and gave it a squeeze. “Let's go find a bar, get wasted and figure out how to save our awkward middle child.”

–

“Dean?”

It was daylight outside, but the room was dark, light filtering through navy blue drapes. Dean couldn't work up the effort to open his eyes more than a crack, so he closed them again, his head fuzzy.

Scratch that. His head _hurt_. There was a touch at the side of his cheek and that voice again, 

“Dean, please wake up. You can go back to sleep, but I need to leave for work and I'd like to make certain you're alright before I do.”

Dean opened his eyes and then closed them right away when it turned out light was pain. “M'fine. Wasn't _that_ drunk. I don't think.”

Cas was crouching at Dean's bedside, and Dean could sense him there as he groaned and tried again with opening his eyes and the whole being conscious thing, which was totally overrated. 

“No, you weren't, but given the level of your inexperience with alcohol, I thought this morning might be difficult. If you drink this, it will help.”

Cas held up a glass of gently-fizzing water. The bubbles were popping too loud, and the thought of drinking anything carbonated made Dean want to barf. “Ugh. In a minute. Is this a hangover?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Hangovers _suck.”_

“They do.” 

Cas placed the glass on Dean's nightstand and stroked through Dean's hair again, tracing his thumb around the shell of Dean's ear. Smiling at Dean like he hadn't come home last night to his drunken new mate and his drunken new mate's new friend tunelessly testing out the karaoke settings on the sound system while scattering chow mein, cashew chicken and fried rice all over the thousand dollar rug. 

“Take a shower when you feel up to it. Hydrate and take it easy, you'll start to feel better soon, I promise. There's painkillers in one of the kitchen drawers if you need them. I understand bananas can help settle your stomach, if you feel up to one.”

Lies. Bananas? There was no way in hell. “Okay.”

“I'd better get to work. Charlie's sleeping it off in the spare room, no sign of life so far.” 

“Thanks.”

Cas's knees cracked as he pushed upwards out of the crouch and brushed the creases out of his work pants. Then he leaned down and pressed a gentle toothpastey kiss to Dean's jaw, making Dean wish he had the energy to grab Cas by his dangling tie and haul him back into bed. Which he did not. Pity.

The tip of Cas's nose lingered by Dean's temple as he softly scented Dean and brushed his lips one last time across Dean's forehead. “I love you. See you tonight.”

Dean wasn't anywhere close to being able to say it back so easily. Instead he hummed a reply and let the warmth the words created pull him back into sleep, soothing and heavy, making his lips curve against the pillow despite his churning gut and the pounding in his head.


	8. Chapter 8

“We gotta stop this.”

Sudden concern tightened Castiel's chest and his arms around Dean. “Stop lovemaking? Why would we do that? I hope very much that we don't.”

Dean wriggled out from under Castiel and from where Castiel had started clutching at him a shade too tight. “No, dumbass, I'm not suggesting – I would never, in a million years, say we needed to quit doin' the wild thing altogether. Hell, no. I'm just sayin' we should try to make it to the bedroom first.”

Castiel looked down at himself, work pants around his ankles where they were hanging off the end of the couch, his work shirt rucked up around his armpits. There were several damp patches on the couch next to his stomach and Dean was reaching over him to grab the jeans and briefs they'd blindly flung behind them, t-shirt hanging off one arm that he was struggling to put back on the right way out. His naked behind was lily-white as he leaned over Castiel, each cheek so soft and round and such a perfect fit for Castiel's hands that the urge to stroke his fingers over it was irresistible.

“I suppose.”

“Or get some kind of wipe clean furniture. Suede's a bitch. Hands off, perve, I'm trying to get dressed here.”

“Sorry. And you're correct, the bed isn't far. But I get home from work and, as soon as I see you, the desire hits, and I'm afraid my control's not where it could be as far as you're concerned.” 

“I know. Me, too.”

The last sparks of pleasure faded as Castiel made himself move, as he smoothed his shirt and sat up to try to reach his pants. Dean finally managed to get his shirt and jeans back on, grabbing Castiel's shirt to haul him close, rubbing his nose against Castiel's for a moment before a brief kiss. “Silver lining – I think we worked off the last of my hangover. I can already smell dinner's ruined, though. It was only pasta, but, yeah. We need to buy a slow cooker or something.”

Castiel's senses were too wrapped up in the wonderful scent of them together, their combined sweat, both his and Dean's ejaculate where they'd rutted semi-naked together into Dean's hand, the scent of Dean's slick where Castiel sunk two fingers into Dean and internally cursed himself for not having the foresight to have condom caches stashed in handy intervals around the apartment. “Whatever you think we need. I'm glad you feel better.”

Dean was already in the kitchen wiping his hands off after washing them at the sink, before lifting something out of the oven that did smell as if it was on the crispier side of edible. His eyes settled on Castiel as Castiel stood to pull up his pants and boxers, a fond smile suggested at the corners of Dean's lips as he watched Castiel tucking himself in. Dean hadn't repeated any acknowledgment of love or whatever tenderness he felt for Castiel, but it seemed increasingly apparent in the way Dean looked at him, in Dean's touches, in the way he'd unconsciously smile to himself whenever Castiel declared his affections. In the way a drunken Dean cuddled into Castiel on their way into the bedroom the night before, touching him and clumsily petting on him, telling him that Dean thought he was cute and hot and that he had a great ass, and had anybody told him before what a great ass he had, because they should, because a picture of his ass should be in a hall of fame for great asses.

Castiel spent the day at work more aware of his own butt than ever before. He'd found himself looking at its reflection in windows. It was okay, he supposed. Nothing compared with Dean's, which deserved a dedicated museum.

“I'm sorry about last night.”

“Why? It seemed as if you were having fun.” Drunken Dean had been a vision. Unencumbered by inhibition, singing loud in his beautiful deep voice, dancing with Charlie and swaying his hips in a manner that Castiel doubted he'd forget any time soon. 

“Felt like I was a mess.”

“No. Well, perhaps a little, but an entertaining one. How was Charlie, once she'd woken?”

“Worse than me. I got her a cab home once she could stand upright. Hope that's okay.”

“Of course it is.”

Dean lifted a fork of the pasta from the dish and sniffed it before holding it out to Castiel. “I dunno, what d'you think? It might be okay if we put enough cheese on it. I figure anything's okay if you put enough cheese on it.”

It took until they were seated together at the dining table with glasses of juice and plates of what Castiel thought had once been chicken alfredo before Castiel managed to bring up the 'work trip'. He'd been preparing the conversation since the morning before, but over twenty four hours of groundwork didn't stop nerves hitting him hard. Lying to his mate after such a gratifying arrival home and while their joined scents still hung in the air felt worse than he'd remembered. 

“I need to inform you of something that may be difficult for us both.”

Dean didn't pause in digging around on his plate, his beautiful eyes less bloodshot than they'd been that morning as they glanced up. “What?”

“I have a work trip next week that I can't avoid. I need to leave Thursday morning and I may not be back until after the weekend.”

“How come?”

“A situation at a firm we invest in.” 

“Yeah? Where?”

“Kansas City.”

Dean's eyes went wide. “That's, what, five hundred miles?”

“I realize that, yes.”

Dean laid his fork down. “That's gonna sting. Why Missouri? I thought most of your business was around here.”

“It's where their head office is.”

Dean nodded. He was being far more reasonable than Castiel expected. A stressed bond so early in their mating could be both emotionally and physically taxing. Dean had every right to complain, but wasn't. 

“Why do you need to go? Haven't you got a whole department of people you could send?”

“A few senior colleagues will be accompanying me, but this is a crisis and I can't in good conscience send others in my stead when I'm aware it's my specific skill-set that's required.”

“Okay.” 

Dean took a bite and chewed thoughtfully for awhile, and Castiel resumed eating, relieved and more than a little self-congratulatory it'd gone so well, when Dean spoke up again. “I could come with you.”

Castiel stopped chewing. Gabriel hadn't suggested a thing about what to do or say if Dean proposed accompanying him. He swallowed too soon, uncomfortably, mind rushing to try to adapt Gabe's suggestions to fit. 

“Um. Well, I suppose that's an idea, but I'm uncertain it'd work for me. I'm very single-minded with my work. I have to be. The distance problem with our bond will be distraction enough, but knowing you're nearby and, I'm sorry to say, unprotected in a strange place away from home without your alpha, surrounded by undetermined threats, would make it impossible for me to concentrate. Although I'd be logically aware you're safe enough in a hotel, instinctively I'd be on constant alert. I _know_ you're safe here, at home. I wouldn't need to worry.”

“I guess.” Dean wasn't looking at him, instead staring down at his plate as if his dried-out pasta was of intense interest. “I'm, just – are you embarrassed by me or something? I don't see why I couldn't sit in their reception somewhere close by and read a book or whatever while you're working. You realize I haven't met anyone you know, Cas? Except the OneFiveTwo group, and they weren't exactly close friends.”

“Uh. No, you're correct, they aren't.” Oh, dear. Castiel didn't like where the conversation seemed to be heading.

“If you don't want me meeting your work buddies, you could just say so, but it does make me wonder why. Seems stupid to stretch the bond over five hundred miles if we don't have to.”

“No, Dean, of course not –”

“I realize I'm not physically how omegas are supposed to be, but I'm not exactly some troll you need to keep locked up in the basement.” Color was creeping into Dean's cheeks, up his throat, his ears turning pink. “I know I'm not super educated, but I'm okay. Smart enough. I don't think I'd embarrass you by being ignorant or anything.”

“Dean, no, please, stop.” Castiel dropped his fork with a clatter and took both of Dean's hands in his across the table. “I'm so proud of being mated to you that I can hardly believe our match was possible. I'm the peculiar one, just like you agreed. If anything, I'd be an embarrassment to you.”

Dean's face flushed deeper, his scent shifting into something almost . . . a tang of bitterness, discomfort or regret. He pulled his hands away. “Then I don't understand why I can't come, or why you want to put us both through something so uncomfortable. Is this some weird subconscious thing where you're mad at me for not having heats? Are you punishing me? Because that would be fucked up.” 

“No!” Gabe said nothing about how far it was possible for the situation to snowball out of Castiel's control. It was turning into a nightmare, and Castiel grasped hold of the one verbal truth he could offer Dean. “I fully support your decision to suppress your cycle, and I respect that your reproductive health is and should be entirely under your control. I'll do my best to explain about the trip, if you want me to.”

“Whatever. Go for it.”

“It's a small company that's involved, we're minor investors and offer occasional consultancy. Their staff are their primary investors. If I can't figure out a way to keep them afloat and financially stable into the future, hard-working families could lose their life savings, their homes, everything they've worked for. Please, look at me.” 

He reached out to squeeze Dean's wrist, and wasn't shaken off as Dean sighed and raised his eyes to meet Castiel's. “I can barely make it through the front door without needing to launch myself at you. Leaving you in bed in the mornings causes physical discomfort. If you're in the hotel or down in reception reading a book, I'll want to be with _you_ , protecting you and attending to your needs as your alpha should, not working as a financial consultant. That's not fair on the people I'm heading there to help. I wouldn't put us through the distance if I truly believed it was avoidable. I'm aware the distress to our bond will trouble us both, but I believe it's already strong enough for us bear it without too much bother.”

It was as close to the truth as he could manage, skirting it a few times, and it seemed to pacify Dean, who nodded slowly before resuming his examination of his dinner. 

“If you say it's that important, I guess I have to trust you.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean grunted, his lips thin with displeasure. “No problem.” Dean's chair scraped on the floor as he stood suddenly, picking his unfinished plate up along with his glass and carrying them over towards the kitchen. “I'm not hungry. I'm headin' out for a walk.

“Oh.” He'd hurt his mate. It was apparent in Dean's posture, his scent, in the way he was avoiding Castiel's eyes as he pocketed wallet and keys. “May I come too? It's a beautiful evening.”

“No, no need, I won't be long. I'll pick up something better than this crappy pasta while I'm out.”

“But I think it's fine . . .”

The door already closed behind Dean's departing back. Castiel gave up on the admittedly flavorless meal. He reminded himself that he was doing this for the right reasons, that causing Dean a little hurt was nothing in comparison to what the captive omegas were going through at the same second, far from home, imprisoned and afraid. 

It didn't help much. He'd harmed his mate. It went against everything Castiel's ego demanded of him. Castiel busied himself disposing of the pasta, soaking the burned dish and spraying a can of suede cleaner onto the worst of the mess they'd made of the couch earlier, reading the instructions to make sure he was using the correct stuff. Berating himself mentally the entire time as he dabbed at the stains until they slowly disappeared, trying to think of ways he could make it up to Dean, wanting to do nothing more than go out in the car and search the streets for Dean until Castiel found his mate and could beg for forgiveness. But he couldn't. It was a necessary evil. He'd have to allow Dean to hurt, and to think less of Castiel as a mate. 

It was thirty minutes off getting dark when Dean returned, eyes tired, shoulders slumped. He'd brought a pizza home with him, a third of it already eaten when he put the box down on the coffee table and opened it, grabbing a slice and sitting down on the couch a meter away from Castiel. 

“Are you flying? To Kansas City? Help yourself or I'm gonna finish the whole thing.”

“Yes.” They weren't. Anything creating an official record of their presence within a hundred miles of Topeka had to be avoided. “The drive would take too long.” He was looking forward to it, as always. The return journey was always too high stakes and would remain tense for hours until they got to safety, but on the drive out he'd allow his foot to grow heavy and open up on the long stretches wherever he could.

“Okay. I don't want to fly. I got the idea that I could maybe travel with you then head off myself, now I'm permitted to move freely. Maybe head to Lawrence and catch up with my dad, who doesn't know where I am yet, and this guy who's like an uncle. I'd be with family for safety, way closer for the bond, but not close enough to distract you. There's an anti-OneFiveTwo protest in Topeka that weekend, I thought maybe you could come meet me there once you'd finished work and we could go together.”

“That's a wonderful idea, if I'm able to make it.” He couldn't. Saturday morning was their go point, the time before required for all the preparation they'd planned. Gabriel was behind the organization of the demonstration, timed to coincide with the hit on the processing center, a tidy method of keeping the majority of local police occupied as their streets were flooded with protesters and those who angrily opposed them. “Why don't you want to fly? Have you flown before?”

“No. And I don't intend to, because humans are specifically designed to stay attached to the ground.”

“I enjoy it. It doesn't matter how many times I fly, it always seems miraculous. There's a small kick in your stomach as the tether between yourself and the ground is severed, and then you're up in the air. Looking out across the clouds, it seems as if you could bounce from one to the other like a series of fluffy trampolines.”

Dean looked at him like he was crazy for suggesting such a thing. “Yeah, fuck that. So it's all a bust, I guess. Looks like I'm stuck here.”

“I'm sorry.” Castiel dared to breach the distance remaining between them and reached out to pat Dean's thigh with his free hand, which Dean covered with his own. 

“S'okay. Sorry I walked out, I needed to clear my head. Figured some stuff out while I was walking. Stuff we should talk about.”

“Like what?” Castiel hadn't realized how hungry he was, stomach gurgling loud as he leaned forward to grab a slice for himself. Dean smirked at him as he almost groaned at his first bite. 

“See, I knew you weren't enjoying the pasta. I'm goin' crazy stuck at home all the time, Cas. I need to find a job.”

Castiel's mouth was too full of pizza to answer so he raised his eyebrows and tried to communicate approval with the power of his eyes alone until he'd managed to swallow. “That's a good idea. What kind of work will you be looking for?”

“I have zero clue. It's not like I'm trained in anything, so probably retail again, which sucks ass, but at least it'd get me out of this place.”

“It would.” Castiel considered the possibilities for a moment as Dean took another bite of his slice. “Or you could consider going to college.”

Dean snorted around his pizza. “Me?” He swallowed. “No. I didn't finish high school. Trust me, I'm not college material.”

“You're certainly intelligent enough. You could finish school now, if you wanted. Get your diploma, go on to higher education or perhaps trade school, if you wanted to learn a professional skill.”

“Yeah?” Dean tossed his crust back into the box, wiped his fingers on his jeans leg then relaxed back into the couch cushions beside Castiel. “You'd be okay with that?”

“Why on earth wouldn't I? I support whatever makes you happy, Dean.”

“A lot of alphas wouldn't. My dad didn't see the point of me finishing school. Figured I was safer at home and that I'd be shacked up somewhere by my early twenties starting to pop out kids.”

“But you're not.”

“No.” Dean was looking at Castiel with narrowed eyes, as if he was seeing something new in Castiel. It wasn't an unfamiliar expression, but one Castiel never knew how to react to. “I'm not. I don't know, I'll look into it.”

“I think you'd enjoy the challenge.”

“Maybe. There's a couple other things, too.” Dean stroked Castiel's fingers where he'd left them resting on Dean's thigh. “Before, when we were talking about you going away, I said something about it then. I think it's weird you don't want me to meet the people in your life. Assuming you have some, I dunno, it's not like I ever had a bunch of friends. If you don't, then fine, but tell me. Or if there are people, like work friends or family friends, whatever, then I'd like to meet them. I feel like there's this whole other side of you I don't get to see. I want to get to know all of you, not just the Cas at home. Y'know?”

“Yes, Dean. I know.”

It wasn't as if Dean meeting his brothers would be difficult. They all lived in the same building after all. Dean had already unknowingly bumped into Raphael in the lobby on one occasion and Ginger in the elevator on another. Castiel was already lying to his mate on almost a daily basis. Keeping everything compartmentalized seemed to be the best method Castiel had of keeping from making too many mistakes, of saying the wrong thing in front of Dean, or risking the exposure of their operation. Castiel trusted Dean to the point where he longed to tell Dean every detail of what the Shadow Wing did, how they functioned, how they were funded, what their next plans were, of his family's history . . . but he couldn't trust Crowley, or underestimate Crowley's skill at getting at the information he needed. He couldn't risk Dean's safety or wellbeing, just to save himself from having to keep secrets. And Michael flatly refused to so much as discuss the matter.

But Dean hadn't contacted Crowley and he'd had Crowley's card for a month, on some level aware that Crowley had influence over Sam's safety. Dean was working through the consequences of over a decade spent in vulnerability and lack of autonomy, and was managing it with grace and a personal strength Castiel couldn't help but feel breathless admiration over. His mate was resilient, rolling with the punches, snapping back to his feet and determinedly finding his way forward. He deserved more than Castiel hiding him at home for his own safety, which was exactly what he'd been doing. He'd been treating Dean with as little respect for Dean's self-reliance and independence as Dean's father had. It had to stop.

“You're correct. I should've introduced you to my closest colleagues weeks ago. You've been needlessly isolated, considering they all live here. I've been thoughtless and I apologize.”

“It's okay. You didn't do it on purpose.”

“We should do something.” Castiel lifted his hand enough that he could turn up palm upwards and lace his fingers into Dean's. “A meal? Next week, Tuesday or Wednesday evening, perhaps, before we leave for Kansas City. I'll check who can make it, and you could pick the restaurant and make a reservation.”

“Uh, sure, I guess.” Dean didn't look overjoyed at the prospect. “Does it have to be fancy? Would your boss be coming? Because he's the big boss, right? _Capo di tutti capi?”_

Castiel smiled in surprised amusement at Dean's Italian. “Yes, he is, he would, and no, it does not. A diner meal or two wouldn't kill Michael, much as his wife will probably make out that it might. But we have the weekend to pick up a suit or two for you, if you wanted to go somewhere more expensive.”

“I liked that place by the park we went to. You think they'd be okay with family style?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel leaned into Dean and propped his chin on Dean's shoulder, breathing in his mate's scent, which was becoming more balanced than earlier, as exquisite as ever. “I'm certain of it. What else?”

“Sam.”

“Oh. Yes?” Castiel was glad that his face was hidden, too close for Dean to notice that he had to fight to keep his face composed. “Have you made any progress?”

“Turns out Charlie's some kind of computer genius. Like, a hacker.”

“Really?” That was news. The only details they knew about the omegas they'd rescued were what the centers holding them had on file. Basic information, names and date of birth, relatives, education and medical history. Employment history where one existed.

“Yeah. I told her about Sam and she's helping me out. Well, she was, but got distracted by this whole . . . anyway, doesn't look like he was arrested, but there's no sign of him since he landed in Topeka two months back. I was relieved at first that he hadn't been stuck in some jail but, when you think about it, that he's somehow disappeared is way worse. We're gonna keep looking but, I don't know. I just wanted to –” Dean sighed and slouched more deeply into Castiel. “Keep you updated, I guess.”

The guilt Castiel felt earlier on hurting Dean's feelings was nothing in comparison to this, a sharp, hot stab of remorse directly through his heart, the weight of the shame pressing into him to the point where it felt difficult to breathe. He hated himself in that moment, truly despised himself for keeping something so vitally important to his mate's emotional wellbeing concealed. He'd have to convince Michael. They _had_ to bring Dean into their circle, somehow, because keeping Sam's possible whereabouts secret from Dean suddenly felt like it was going to burn their bond into ashes from the inside out. 

Dean squeezed his hand. “You okay?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“You've gone all quiet. More than usual.”

“Just tired. Thank you for telling me about Sam. I'm glad Charlie's able to assist you.”

Castiel had a good idea where Sam was. Raph narrowed the options down to a small, secure unit a subsidiary linked to Lydianstone held outside Dodge City. Not even half a state away. Gabriel was already planning a small hit on the place in a few weeks' time, possibly just Castiel and Uriel, simple and fast, in and out. But they couldn't risk going in before Topeka, where twenty six possible rescues waited for their help. 

He had to tell Dean, somehow, and in a way that wouldn't mean Dean rushing off and risking his own safety. Michael remained suspicious of Dean's motives in talking to Crowley back in the center, because Michael had always been too focused on the mission to try to walk a single step in the shoes of anyone else or to remember that people were fallible in times of great stress. But it was time Castiel stepped up on his mate's behalf and forced Michael's hand. Until then, every breath he shared with Dean as they sat in silence on the couch together, holding hands, was a betrayal of his mate. Regardless of the good he might be doing elsewhere, Castiel couldn't live with that much longer.

“While I was out walking, I figured out that I'm used to keeping everything to myself. I always had to. It's gonna take awhile to get into the habit of letting you know what's going on.” Dean let his head rest against Castiel's, so trusting that it strengthened the ache of recrimination deep in Castiel's chest. “I'm gonna try, though.”

He should've thanked Dean again. Should've been able to promise that he'd do the same. Instead Castiel closed his eyes and let himself soak up Dean's proximity, trying not to think about how he was possibly risking losing it for good. 

–

Why. Why had he bugged Cas about this. Why did he ever think this would be a good idea. Why, for the love of everything decent in the world, did he think that meeting all Castiel's important colleagues in public, literally out of his comfort zone, _as a group_ , was something he wanted enough that he'd _made it happen_. 

Why. Seriously. What the hell. 

Castiel's colleagues, so far, were a little fucked up. More like a dysfunctional family out of an eighties soap opera about rich people than business buddies. 

Michael, the CEO, seemed like your average everyday business Alpha, a little too full of himself, expensive watch and too much cologne, well mannered enough to almost disguise how unimpressed he seemed with Dean as he'd shaken Dean's hand with barely a flicker of emotion. Michael's wife, Lilith, seemed like this frosty ice bitch who laid on the sweet and nice at first, tucking her arm into Dean's and saying how lovely it was to finally meet him in what felt like fake friendliness, all the time side-eyeing Michael like they hated each other and were five seconds from an acrimonious divorce or actual hand-to-hand combat. 

Which Luke would've supported. Luke, so far, was a snide asshole in a snappy suit and kinda hilarious, but obviously had some sort of history with Lilith that meant sniping about everything she said in a theatrical undertone everybody could hear but pretended they didn't. Maybe they'd hooked up once at an office party or something. Lilith apparently liked Luke about as much as she did her husband. Luke also kept low-key insulting Cas in a 'hey, I'm just bustin' your balls' way that instantly irritated Dean on Cas's behalf, but Cas seemed like he was used to it and as if it didn't bother him. 

The first thing Luke said to Dean was “So he finally released you from the mating chamber. I'm sure our waiter can produce an ice pack if it'll help you sit . . .” and, yeah, Dean managed to snark back with “Something I'm pretty sure you've never had to offer a date before” instead of the middle finger he prefer if they hadn't been in a family restaurant. but he wasn't much inclined to like Luke or spend any time with him in the future. 

Or with any of them, honestly. He was beginning to understand that maybe Cas hadn't been hiding him from them, but instead the other way around. Cas didn't seem relaxed or himself around any of them. Except maybe with Gabe, who was bitchy, weirdly flirty and over-familiar when he'd gone in for an eager hug of greeting instead of the handshake the others stuck with, but he was friendliest with Cas and he acted as though Dean's reply to Luke's opening salvo was way funnier than it had been.

Raph was someone Dean had already seen around their apartment block, tall, dark and handsome, intense and looking just about done with everyone's shenanigans. He'd tucked himself up near the other end of the table to suck up to his boss and was the only one who'd brought a casual date along, a pretty beta girl called Tish who seemed more nervous than Dean and who'd give him a weak smile across the table every time the others would start to bicker. 

They'd already ordered drinks by the time Uriel and his wife showed up. Uriel did not endear himself to Dean the second he got pissy with their waiter for not immediately producing a wine list, like the waiter could magically pull it out of his ass on request. He was older, big and tough-looking for a beta, and his job title of Head of Security made sense as Dean could totally see him being the type of guy who'd had people disappeared in the past. But he seemed to be capable of squashing some of Luke's nastier asides about Lilith in a flat, sarcastic tone, which went in his favor. His wife, Ginger, was the only one there Dean could imagine hanging out with again one day. She took control of the table the second she got there, making Cas switch seats with her so she could sit next to Dean and get cozy. 

But Cas. God, Cas, who'd formally stand up and beam with pride every time he'd have to introduce Dean to a new arrival. His scent was a little off again, not as bad as it'd been at the two activist group meetings they'd attended but definitely muted, and only Cas could manage to make what had been a freshly dry-cleaned shirt look like he'd found it crumpled at the bottom of the laundry basket. The slightly nerdy tone was back in his voice, he'd cut his chin shaving and his hair was a mess, but he looked so happy to show Dean off. Touching Dean's arm, his shoulder, every few minutes, as if he needed everyone in the small Italian restaurant to know Dean was his. Making sure Dean had iced water and a light beer to his liking, that Dean got first choice when a basket of bread rolls arrived, that he was comfortable and close enough to the open windows to enjoy the light breeze coming out of the park. It was dorky and cute, attentive, so very sweet, but . . .

He didn't seem like an alpha. In public, Cas slipped into this _otherness_ , not beta, not alpha, something almost neutral. Not like people who were null, but something else. The others treated him similarly, somewhat dismissive, something like a little brother, hell, Uriel even called him 'Tiny' a couple of times, which seemed like an odd nickname for someone holding what Cas'd explained was the third most-senior position in their company. Cas was one of only four alphas in the place, and was the only one Dean doubted would be classified as that by strangers at other tables, unlike Michael, who was broadcasting alpha vibes so strong the air was practically oscillating. 

It was unsettling. It made Dean nervous and he wasn't sure exactly why. Alphas usually unconsciously jostled for dominance with other alphas in a public setting, and maybe this was Cas's way of respecting his boss's need to act like some kind of Head Honcho. 

Still. It was weird. The hierarchy at the table was strange, with the more serious end up where Michael sat with his wife glaring daggers at him and Raph looking as if it was all a waste of his time, then Tish, Uriel and Cas stuck in the middle making stilted conversation. Dean's end of the table was more anarchic with Luke and Gabe trying to outdo each other in the asshole stakes while Ginger got rapidly toasted on white wine. 

It got Dean's hackles up as Michael tapped on his wine glass with his knife and raised it, toasting The Shurley Foundation, which should've been Cas's place to do as host now all their guests had arrived and settled. Luke went up several notches in Dean's estimation as he answered “Surely you can't be serious,” Gabe murmuring _'and don't call me Shirley'_ to Luke, the two of them snickering together as everyone else echoed a visibly-irritated Michael. Lilith downed her drink without using it to toast anything or anybody.

“And to our new mates, the real reason we're here.” Gabriel held up his glass. “Welcome to the tomfoolery, Deano. Our deepest sympathies in getting yourself attached to Cassie and, by extension, this rabble. Feel free to avoid us whenever possible.” 

Raph held up his own. “Especially Luke.”

“I should probably resent that, but.” Luke toasted. “Yeah. Totally fair. To Cassie and Dean.”

The rest of them joined in, and Dean thought again about how this had been the worst idea he'd ever had as most of the people in the restaurant seemed to turn to look at them with curious smiles. Male omegas were rare enough that it was notable for Dean to be sitting there with his bite mark not quite covered by his shirt collar, a blush creeping up his neck as Cas reached behind Ginger's shoulders to run his thumb along Dean's jaw and down to the mark at the base of his throat. Not possessively, exactly, a hint of scent marking, but, dammit, the embarrassment was hitting him again and Dean _hated_ it. 

If Cas was like he was at home, his scent strong and rich, his voice a deep growl that spoke of hidden power, all that quiet intensity and the potency in his tight body that only Dean could control . . . he loved Cas. He did, Dean knew it, he loved Cas and was so head over heels that when he heard Cas's key in the door after work, Dean's heart would start thumping hard enough to make him unsteady on his feet. And sweet, dorky Cas in public was adorable and not someone Dean was exactly embarrassed to be mated to. 

But he wanted at-home-Cas to claim him in public. Not, like, _claim_ -claim him, not after the Elevator Incident, but everyone in there should know that, actually, yeah, sometimes Dean could do with a goddamn ice pack, because his powerful Alpha could pound into him so hard Dean swore he'd see stars. At-home-Cas was _everything._ Because Cas was in control and macho as fuck in bed, and every person in there should be jealous as hell because Dean honestly thought Cas might make him orgasm himself to death one day. 

Ginger had asked him something, and was waiting on his answer. “I'm sorry, I was miles away, totally missed that.”

“I think I know exactly where you were, your mark's almost throbbing.” She winked at him. “I was saying that you won't need any baby stuff as I've got Melody's first three years' worth of stuff packed away and you're more than welcome to it. But I'm guessing by how Castiel's waggling his eyebrows in panic at me that you're not planning on starting a family any time soon?”

“No, not right away.”

“You definitely have the right idea.” Lilith was on her third or fourth vodka, much of her initial pleasantness no longer apparent as she raised her voice down the length of the table. “Leave it as long as your alpha allows you to get away with. The amount of years it took me to claw my way back up the career ladder after taking time out to birth Michael's spawn was not worth it. And it _destroys_ your body. Oh, go fuck yourself, like you even disagree.” As Michael cleared his throat. “You're the one who said my breasts are like empty socks.”

Michael had moved on to drinking straight whiskey, his fingers tight on his glass. “Keep your voice down if you're determined to use that type of language in public. I was merely objecting, _darling,_ to your referring to our son as 'spawn'.”

“If the baby bootie fits . . .”

“Mother of the year, ladies and gentlemen.”

They'd finished all the bread. Hopefully their food would start to arrive soon and mop up some of the alcohol. Dean turned away from the car crash at the head of the table to talk more to Ginger, who'd just finished browbeating a intimidated-looking Cas into accepting her planning services for a wedding service Dean and Cas hadn't even discussed having.

“How long have you been married to, uh, Uriel, was it?”

“Oh, honey. Way too long.” She'd already downed most of a bottle. Dean was still on his first beer. “Fourteen years in August. Hey, you can help me organize our party! We have one every year.”

“Uh, no, I'm not really that kind of omega. This is the closest thing to a party I think I've been to. I wouldn't know anything about table arrangements or whatever.”

She touched his arm, her manicure a stunning, intricate design including tiny jewels stuck on in swirls of purple and silver. “My sister's an omega and she's a plumber, so trust me, I wouldn't assume you're only interested in pretty things. Plus it's a barbecue, nothing too fancy. No, I meant it might help you get to know our little community if you helped me out with the invitations.”

An omega plumber sounded to Dean's sheltered ears about as likely a hippopotamus astronaut. “That's actually a great idea. I don't know anybody in our building.”

“Bull-shit. You know me. I'm a floor down, just stamp on the ground to announce when you're on your way over for a gossip. You should definitely come over once these assholes are out of our hair, I'll keep you company.”

“Okay. Thanks. Will do.” 

Dean watched Lilith glowering at Luke, who'd just flipped her off by informing her that she looked like Alice Cooper because her mascara was smudged, demonstrating how to wipe it off from under his eyes with both his middle fingers. There was Michael deciding it was his job to draw a flustered, shy Tish into conversation about her work at the animal shelter where she'd met Raph and about pedigree shows, something Michael seemed unable to fathom that someone working with rescues and mongrels wouldn't necessarily think were as engaging as he did. Cas looked a little aghast as Gabriel talked him through some mix-up involving a strip club and an Amazon delivery driver, and Raph was calling dibs and threatening to bury his butter knife in Uriel's hand when he'd reached for the first dish of cannelloni to finally arrive.

“Are they always like this? I figured business colleagues would be . . . I don't know. Different. Business-like.”

“What, this?” Ginger gestured expansively around the table, not seeming to notice how she had her wine in that hand. “This is the Shurley Foundation on its best behavior. They've all known each other since they started out in college, so, no.” She swayed into him with a laugh, coral lipstick smudged, deep brown eyes already not entirely focused. Dean liked her. “This is their restaurant manners. They're usually way, _way_ worse. You better drink up, because it's all downhill from here.”


	9. Chapter 9

Dean thought he'd gotten the hang of it already. He'd had three driving regular driving lessons before Ginger recommended her sister's mother-in-law to teach him how to drive stick, and Dean figured he must be some kind of natural. His instructor seemed confident enough in him, too, patiently talking him through it as he'd bunny hopped down the street for a few minutes, before letting him drive around town to practice road sense wherever he pleased once he'd started figuring the different gears out. 

Ms. Shawna's car was awesome, too, a zippy little Miata from the eighties in eye-piercing red that she'd turned up in with the top down, revving the engine. She vaguely directed him by pointing randomly, seeming like she wasn't even keeping an eye on how he was driving as she sang along to the radio playing oldies, and Dean felt like he was made for it. Shades on, feeling more than hearing the engine's vibrations through the floor that'd mean it was time to shift up or down, like the Miata was talking to him. Pleased at how he was already thinking less about steering, because the car seemed to understand where he needed to go through a process of symbiotic intuition. He'd known he'd love driving, but this, buzzing around the streets, sun beating down, radio on, flicking through the gears as if he'd been doing it for years and as if the different pedals were extensions of his feet, felt amazing. He couldn't wait to tell Cas all about it. 

Which brought him down a little. Cas'd left just a couple hours before for the airport. They'd barely quit touching for a second since Cas got home the evening before, and they'd knotted that night, again in the morning as if Cas couldn't bear to let himself leave, Dean locking tight around Cas like he never wanted to let go. It was a good thing the Miata's seat slid back far enough to accommodate Dean's legs, or he'd have been sitting with his knees up around his ears and a whole load of pressure on what was already a sensitive area that morning. 

Ms. Shawna seemed to be aware of Dean's change in mood and asked him to pull over on a side street, talking him through different maneuvers until his scent settled. Maybe Cas's flight had finally departed and it was the bond already reacting to the growing distance, maybe it was simply the thought that he wouldn't see Cas for days when Cas had so quickly become his entire life. Dean didn't know. Didn't have a clue what the next few days would be like without his mate. The next few days were going to feature plenty of junk food and porn to get him through any discomfort. 

Maybe Ms. Shawna would have the next couple days free and they could spend the whole time Cas was away doing this, driving around aimlessly with the wind in their hair (or wig and headscarf-turban combo in Ms. Shawna's case). Maybe they could drive out and look at a few places that sold vintage cars, and Dean could surprise Cas by picking him up from the airport in something flashy he could already drive. There probably wasn't close to being enough time, but it was a nice idea. 

“Okay, we're gonna want to head out to a quieter area where we can practice parking and all that jazz. Then you're finding us somewhere to eat, where I'll allow you to buy me lunch. No drive thru because we're not animals and we don't eat in the car. Sound good?”

“Sure does, Ms. Shawna. Sounds great.”

It happened when he'd stopped at a crosswalk, remembering to put the handbrake on, two moms with strollers crossing in front of them as Ms. Shawna cooed and waved at the babies and asked Dean when he was planning on getting himself in the family way, because wasn't he getting a little old to leave it too much longer. A Prius passed on the street crossing theirs, a silver one like Cas's, making Dean smile. Then he cocked his head at it as it drove out of sight, Amnesty International and Greenpeace Save the Bees bumper stickers catching his eye as it went by.

It was Cas's car, the same plates from the quick glance Dean managed to get. Why the hell was Cas's car driving all the way over the other side of the city, the opposite direction from where the airport was compared to their apartment. Had he missed his flight? Had someone stolen his car from airport parking? Dean pulled forward as soon as he could, starting to follow the direction the Prius had taken. 

“Just taking us on a little detour.”

“Fine by me, I'm always happy to take the scenic route.”

He'd already lost sight of it, though. Dean looked each way up and down side streets as he drove, but he was too new to driving and had to concentrate on the road too closely to be able to figure out where it'd gone.

Once his lesson was over, he'd have to call Cas. Text him, ask him to call. Tell Cas he'd seen the Prius and check if Cas was still in town or not, because the bond wasn't troubling him, yet, which it should've been if Cas left on his flight as planned. Dean felt settled enough, like he usually would when Cas was at work just a few miles away during the day. Dean drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel for a second then checked his mirrors and indicated, turning the Miata onto a small parking lot behind a pharmacy, asking Ms. Shawna to talk him through a three-point turn so they could head back the way they'd been going, and giving up on figuring it out 'til he'd talked to Cas.

Something wasn't right. It didn't feel like a big deal, but something was off and was going to bug him until Cas explained what was going on.

–

The warehouse lights flickered on, and Castiel felt the warm glow expanding in his chest like it always did whenever he cast his eye over his toys. Anything important was under a dust cover, but he knew the lines of his cars by heart, each one, and could tell from how they sat beneath their covers whether or not the air in their tires needed checking, or their alignment was off by a millimeter, which of them was itching for a run. 

“C'mon, Stinky.” Luke's hands landed on Castiel's shoulders heavily. “Make my year and tell me the soccer mom minivan's for Uriel.”

Castiel shrugged him off. “The minivan is, indeed, intended for Uriel. The Focus is for you and Raph.”

Luke laughed and patted Castiel on his shoulders, “Good man” as Uriel groaned and took the keys. 

“I lose _one bag_ and I get stuck with the mule. This is bullshit. A minivan? Ugh. Come on, then, assholes, help me pack it up.”

Gabriel was looking up at Castiel's choice of vehicle for himself with his eyebrows raised. “Seriously? This is a new low, even for you.”

Castiel reached over to pat the closest wheel arch on his box truck, which was big and beautiful, and he could hardly wait to get her out on the freeway. “Don't listen to the bitter little man. He's jealous and you're perfect.”

Michael looked somewhere between horrified and resigned to the fact he had to trust Castiel's choices. “To be fair, I doubt Shawnee County Sheriff's Office is going to think anyone's crazy enough to illegally transport abducted omegas in a U-Haul. But it's not exactly clandestine.”

“Not 'exactly' clandestine?” Gabe laughed. “It's _orange.”_

“It's hiding in plain sight. As Michael said, nobody's suspicious of a U-Haul and it means we can park in a residential street without the attention we got last time.” Castiel used his gloved thumb to buff out a mark on her cab door. “And she means business where it counts. Lots of poke, very twitchy unloaded but surprisingly smooth once I got weighed her down and changed out her tires. She's already fitted out for ratchet straps so we've got safety harnesses and supplies. I'm keeping her once we're done.”

“No.” Raph paused in stacking black equipment bags into Uriel's ancient beige Nissan to frown at him. “You do not need another twenty-foot truck.”

Castiel wasn't going to be persuaded. “There's need, and then there's _need.”_

Luke was watching the others pack the minivan, visually supervising as always rather than breaking a sweat himself. “Why are you wasting your breath? It's got an engine and he's already driven it. The only way he's getting rid of it now is if the same terrible fate befalls it as the UPS truck.”

“Don't you dare. If I find out you've laid a single finger on her . . .”

Luke ducked out of the way of Castiel's accusatory glare. “You never proved dick and spontaneous combustion is totally a thing.”

“I'd already cleaned it out. I mean it, Luke.” Castiel's voice dropped into a growl before he'd noticed. A sturdy UPS carrier they'd used on one of their first runs went missing from his garage and turned up burned out in a ditch out of town, when Castiel had been hoping to keep hold of it, even though his brothers were worried about fingerprints and DNA traces. “Hands off. You can do whatever you like with the Nissan once we're done. In fact, it'd be kinder to put it out of its misery. It drives like a beached whale.”

“For crying out loud . . .” Uri slammed the trunk on the Nissan shut and glared at it, hands on hips. “You couldn't find a single better tactical vehicle available than this POS?”

“I've been busy.”

Gabe plucked at Castiel's t-shirt, exposing more of the mess of dark love bites at the base of his throat. “We noticed.”

“It would save a great deal of time and effort if we could perhaps not begin every single mission with complaining about the choice of vehicles.” Castiel brushed Gabe's hand away and grabbed a couple of the prepared fuel containers intended for the Focus. “Green's for the Nissan. Should be more than enough, but . . .”

“We know.” Raph took up two of the Nissan's cans. “We're strapping them into the rear center seat. These double walled?”

His brothers were concerned about carrying so much fuel with them. “Yes. I could drive the U-Haul over them and they'd survive intact. I got dry powder extinguishers for each vehicle, just in case.”

Having to stop for fuel on the return journey during the last run had been one of a number of cascading problems surrounding the entire mission. They'd barely made it out of APC before Gabriel informed them he was certain someone was watching the recovery truck, too many signs of possible surveillance meaning Castiel had to think on his feet and find something else. It'd taken him several miles at a run to find anything like an appropriate vehicle out there in the flats of Kansas, stripping out off his combat gear down to his t-shirt and running shorts as he'd gone, stopping briefly to dispose of it all here and there, wherever he could. 

The first wind-blown little town he'd come to was mostly pick-up trucks or flatbeds, nothing he could hide a group of seventeen fugitives in. He'd eventually found an old delivery truck parked out back of a few empty barns a couple of miles out of town. Managing to coax the truck into starting after cleaning its spark plugs and manually cranking it, Castiel hadn't dared take too long to check the engine over and pump a little air back into its balding, slack tires before heading out to meet up with the others. 

Stopping for fuel on the way to the new rendezvous spot, he'd been very aware that he was on camera the whole time, notably covered in dust, dirt and sweat, then again when he'd had to fill the tank a few hours into the drive back. He hadn't risked stopping long enough to head into the gas station for refreshments to replace those they'd lost when they'd abandoned the original rescue truck, because he'd known he was risking everyone's freedom the longer he took. The severity of Dean's dehydration was partly the group's responsibility, but was primarily due to Castiel's decisions that day. 

There was no way in hell he would ever allow anyone to suffer like that again because he wasn't prepared enough. He didn't care about the extra weight involved – from now on, they all carried an excess of extra water, protein bars and rehydration sachets, and each vehicle had a grab bag and smaller container of extra fuel in case of sudden transfer. Nobody ever told them how to go about this. He'd made mistakes but he _learned_. It was all he could do.

“Are we finally ready to discuss why you felt it was so vitally important to have both Alphas traveling together? You must realize how uncomfortable the journey is likely to be for both of us in such a confined area.” 

The others had already left, Uriel grumbling over the state of the Nissan's acceleration over comms for a good few minutes until Luke had threatened to run him off the road in his Focus if he didn't shut the fuck up and quit bitching. Michael hauled himself up into the U-Haul's passenger seat after he'd closed up Castiel's garage, and made a face at Castiel's choice of radio station, turning it off. “And, I think not. Music could interfere with communications.”

It couldn't. It really couldn't, each of them wearing a small ear-mounted headset that meant they could speak directly into each other's eardrums, overriding whatever external noise was going on, including alarms or, potentially, gunshots. Castiel found Michael's personality grating at the best of times, and that he was already getting up Castiel's nose three seconds after entering the vehicle did not bode well. 

“I've become accustomed to background music. It's relaxing. Dean has it on all the time at home.”

“I'm not sitting here for hours listening to that caterwauling.”

Castiel let it go. There was no sense in beginning what was likely to be a fraught journey with an argument about something as petty as the radio. “There's no reason the others need our supervision. You know that.”

“Hmn.” Michael's grunt was unconvinced. “Doesn't mean I have to like it. Or think it's anything approaching a good idea for you and I to be at close quarters for too long.”

“You can switch out with Raphael once we've stopped to eat. Let me get on the twenty-five before we get into it.”

Michael sighed his unwilling agreement before tapping the back of his ear and answering Gabriel, who was back in his nerve center buried deep in their offices and checking through everyone's comms. Castiel followed suit, then squeezed the steering wheel after ending the open connection. He already loved driving the U-Haul, had done since he'd picked her up for a steal on Craigslist and driven her back to his industrial garage. He loved trucks, loved sitting up high and lording it over all the others on the road like his seat was a throne, loved a notchy manual transmission designed to jump into gear with barely a flick of his thumb, pedals that'd give him some pushback with great tactile information for total control. Having a sour-looking Michael glaring out his window along for the ride wasn't going to spoil it for Castiel. The roads were fairly clear and it was a good day for driving, a few hazy clouds high in the sky filtering the glare out of the sunshine and off the road's surface.

“Sitting here in silence is absurd." Michael was drumming his fingers on his knees, never a good sign. "I fail to see why we need to wait any longer for you to demand that we bring Dean into the mission and for me to refuse it.”

Castiel unintentionally ground the gears, mentally apologizing to the U-Haul and willing himself to calm. “Because it's an emotional subject for me and I'd rather concentrate on the road until it opens out. And because a refusal is not going to be acceptable. We have several hours to debate the issue, we don't need to immediately begin.” 

“You're not going to deny that's what you were intending to speak to me about?”

“Why bother?” He glanced over at Michael, who was staring at him steadily. “What else was it likely to be? I'm no longer willing to keep our secrets from my mate.”

“Uriel does not place the importance of his relationship beyond that of the mission. _I_ do not. There is nothing that should come before our legacy.”

“You're going to hold up your marriage to Lillith as a positive example? Besides, neither of you are mate-bonded. I don't believe you have any notion of the emotional cost of perpetually lying to a bonded mate.”

“I thought it might come down to that. The one point neither of us are able to argue with any sense of perspective. I may not be mate-bonded, but I am married and I'll thank you to bear in mind that marriage is perfectly adequate for the majority of humanity.”

“I know.” The U-Haul had settled in, connecting with Castiel as any vehicle would after he'd driven it for a few minutes. Responding to his touch beautifully, her big backside taking up the entire lane to the extent where nobody would dare try to overtake him. King of the Road. “I wasn't disparaging marriage in general. Just yours.”

Michael's scent was already spiking with annoyance. Castiel reached out to turn up the air circulating out of the cab. “What I'm sure you can understand is that I'm risking more than a messy divorce. When Dean finds out I've been lying to him –”

“If. If Dean finds out, which he needn't.”

“No, _when._ He's far more intelligent than you give him credit for.”

“I'm sure you feel that your mate is worthy, but the man's barely educated –”

“Which doesn't mean he's dumb. Look at how gifted we know his brother is. Dean's very shrewd, picks up on my reactions even when I'm trying to disguise them, and you and I both know how terrible I am at lying. It's barely been two months and I'm struggling. It's only a matter of time, Michael, and if he chooses to dissolve our bond because of everything I've kept from him, I'm out of the mission anyway. There's no way I'd be able to function. You know that, in theory at least.”

“We all hear these things, but I've yet to be convinced that it's anything but mind over matter, or that a single omega could bring me to my knees.”

“Because you're not pair-bonded. If you were ever to meet your mate –”

“Which is about as likely as being hit by lightning while being bitten by a shark the day my lottery numbers come up . . .”

Castiel laughed. “You have lottery numbers?”

“Of course I don't, don't be asinine.”

They drove a few minutes longer, taking the time to allow the air between them to settle, the aircon taking care of the hormonal spike. The extra air was drying his throat out, and Michael seemed to accept a brief truce as he cracked a bottle of water for Castiel then grabbed one for himself, both of them watching the road. 

“Your mate is not a typical omega.”

“No.” Castiel's smile was instant and proud as he thought of Dean with a pang, already aware of the small amount of miles growing between them. “He's not. I'm not certain any such person exists, but Dean's very far from anything like it.”

“That's my primary concern. If you inform Dean of our mission prior to our rescue of his brother –”

“I know.”

“ – There'll be no way for you to stop Dean prematurely charging off to try to rescue him himself, causing who knows what kind of mess we'd have to rush to clear up. Any other omega, I'd be happy you could command their compliance. Would that work on Dean?"

"Would what work? A command? Possibly."

"Your full voice, if it came to that.”

“My full voice?” Cas glanced again at Michael. “Yes, It would. But I'm not sure if he'd ever forgive me, though. Or ever look at me in the same way. I'd prefer to never use it on him if it can be helped.”

“Exactly my point. Anyone with half a brain can see he's not the type of person to blindly follow orders, and you're always too cautious to let your Alpha out with anyone who's not an immediate threat.” 

“He obeyed when I instructed him to stay in bed during his first days of recovery.”

“And no doubt you apologized profusely for having done so.”

“You alpha in your way and I'll alpha in mine.”

“Not when it's the mission at stake.”

“I don't believe that it is. Dean is a reasonable man, and I can't believe he'd consciously risk my safety.”

“He's your mate, Castiel. Objectivity has never been your strong point and you're too close to the situation to be able see it clearly.”

They'd reached their first impasse. There was no point in trying to deny Michael's argument, which would only come across as too defensive and as if Castiel himself was entirely without perception of his own flaws. Instead he drove, enjoying the remaining pop in the truck's weighed-down suspension as the reinforced wheels bounced over a rut in the road, and waited for Michael to speak. 

“I'm not yet convinced we can trust Dean with Crowley. I admit he's not the Lydianstone spy we suspected he might be, but his concern for his brother may override his capacity for judgment.”

“This? Again?” Castiel braked too sharply at a red light to send a small punishing shock through Michael. “No. He's had Crowley's contact information for weeks and has done nothing about contacting him.”

“I'm aware, but –”

“Dean confirmed one thing, _one thing_ in conversation with Crowley, while he was being held prisoner, while he was drugged, beaten and half-starved, and the information he confirmed was something he believed was already an official point of record. I trust Dean with my life. If that's not good enough for you –”

“It can't be, not where our legacy's concerned. Once I've reassured myself that your mate's trustworthy –”

“You will _not_ talk to him about this, Michael.” A car waiting behind them beeped its horn a couple of times to draw Castiel's attention to the changing lights, so he pulled off and returned his attention to the traffic. “I explicitly forbid it.”

“– Once I'm convinced, I'll consider the practicality of Dean being informed about the mission. And I don't intend to speak with Dean about this, I never did. How could I, under the guise of being your boss? What on earth would I say?”

“But you're planning to test him somehow.”

“I am planning to reassure myself that we will not be risking the mission.” 

“If you hurt him, in any way, I will not be able to control my reaction.”

Michael sighed and turned the radio back on, the volume greatly reduced. It was an olive branch of sorts. “I would never do anything that put Dean's safety in jeopardy. He's family. For our mothers, Castiel.”

Castiel recognized the song on the radio, one he'd witnessed Dean singing quietly along with back home, _'Good men through the ages tryin' to find the sun, and I wonder still I wonder, who'll stop the rain . . .'_ They were barely twenty minutes out of town with a full day of driving to go, but the thought of Dean brought comfort with it, a swell of happiness at the thought of having someone as miraculous as Dean waiting at home for him to return to after whatever chaos was waiting for them in Topeka. He had time to wear Michael down, and for now, it was enough. 

–

“Please?”

“I don't know.”

“Dude. Please. Please please please. With sprinkles on top.”

Dean rubbed over the back of his neck, feeling more awkward with every second that passed. “Cas'll be back by then.”

“I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate, and if the bed in your spare room wasn't three times the size of my current one, which happens to be separated from that of my hosts only by a very thin wall. It already feels like someone's punched me in the ovaries, it can't be more than a week off.” Charlie poked him with her socked toe. “Pleeeeease. The spare room's like,” She flung her arms open and pointed towards each room. “At least an entire football field away from yours, so it's not like you guys'll be forced to listen to me repeatedly committing clitteracide.”

“I can't say yes without checking with Cas first. I don't know anything about how it'd be for him, having an unmated omega going through hell week in his apartment. If it was just me here, sure, whatever I can do to help. But . . .” Dean took a deep breath. He'd never talked about heats with anyone, let alone another omega, and it wasn't coming as naturally to him as it seemed to with Charlie. “I'm sure we could pay for you to get a heat suite. If you wanted.”

She pulled a face. “Ugh. Thanks, but, frick that. Can you imagine? The idea of those places creeps me out.”

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Dean had his few mature heats at home in between trials of different suppressants. His dad did everything possible short of actually talking to Dean to encourage Dean to have them elsewhere, hints and implications that'd abruptly end soon as Dean's scent started to change, his dad exiting the building shortly after and not returning home for a week. But Dean always needed to be somewhere with familiar scents nearby even if he was alone, at home where he could bolt the doors and feel halfway safe once he was out of his mind with it, and the idea of shutting himself away like that in a building filled with strangers made his skin crawl. Charlie sighed, already sounding resigned to him saying no.

“Look. If it's gotta be a refusal, then okay, I can respect that. I'll have to deal and I won't bug you about it. But please, just think about it and talk to Cas if you can? I wouldn't even ask if your spare room wasn't so perfect, I mean, it's got its own shower, there'd be no staggering bow-legged through to a shared bathroom leaving a snail trail behind. You remember how humiliating that is?”

Dean grimaced and nodded. Yes, he remembered. 

“So you get it. Michele and Alix are betas, they don't have any idea, and I realize you avoid riding the estrus bronco but some of us just have to get through it.” Charlie's voice was more uncertain and vulnerable than it'd been even back in the truck the day they'd escaped. “I don't have anyone else here to ask. I'm sorry.”

It was that shaky, powerless note in her voice that got to him in the end. “You don't need to apologize. You can stay for your heat.”

“What?” Charlie perked up. “You're not going to ask Cas first? You're sure about that? Don't toy with me, Winchester.” 

“I'm sure. This is supposed to be my home now. I'll talk to Cas about it, but I'm not asking his permission.”

Charlie grabbed Dean's elbow. “For real?”

“Sure.” Dean laughed as she flung her arms around him with an excited squeak. “If he says a flat no, I doubt there's much I can do about it. But, much as I know Cas, he's not gonna say no, even if the whole thing's majorly uncomfortable for him. He seems like the kinda guy who'll help anyone out no matter what, if he can.”

“Aw.” She tweaked his nose. “You are so gone on him.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

The bite of distress from the bond was as sharp and unexpected as it'd been every time so far. Castiel was too far away and Dean's psyche was furious about it. So far, Dean was retreating back to bed to cover himself in Cas's scent every time he'd felt the distance too fiercely, but he wasn't about to do that with Charlie there. He'd have to suck it up. Cas called the evening before once he'd settled into his hotel, and they'd talked for hours until they were ready to sleep. They'd settled the matter of the Prius, one of Cas's assistants using it while he was away now that Dean no longer needed it for driving lessons. As they talked Dean curled into Cas's pillow and breathed in his scent. Cas had taken one of Dean's t-shirts with him, stored in a ziplock bag, and Dean could hear him hilariously huffing it like some glue addict, but Cas's voice and his scent and their shared bed made the ache seem so much more distant than in that morning when he'd woken alone. 

“Is it okay if I get all my supplies sent directly here? You could stack the boxes in my room. By which of course I mean your spare room. My room? What? Who even said that.” Charlie was back to clicking around on her laptop. 

“I guess. Boxes of what?”

“It's been awhile for you, huh. Pheromone gel, mattress protector, pudding cups and all of the dildos, obviously.”

_“Oh._ Yeah, of course.” And now he was back to awkward. “Is there anything I can do to help, uh, prepare?”

“Sweetie, no. We're siblings, that'd be gross. Although it's probably a good idea to keep me nourished and hydrated in preparation for three solid days of muffin buffin'. Just sayin'.”

“Gotcha, snacks required. I've got the peach tea that's nearly all sugar and about every type of potato chip they had in the store, if that's any good.”

“Well? What're you waiting on, a written invite?” Charlie turned from her screen to frown at him. “I came here to be a crazy hormonal bitch and chew bubble gum, and guess what I'm all out of.”

Dean hide his smile and retreated to the kitchen with a _'yes ma'am.'_ He'd always been a mess the week before a heat, and he knew better than to trust that Charlie was joking. Maybe she was, but he had a semi-circular scar over one knuckle where he'd put his fist through one of the panes of glass on the kitchen door a week before his heat hit. And his big toe ached every winter from where it hadn't healed right after kicking the wall that one time. He hated the cliché that omegas were controlled by their cycles but, unsuppressed, he'd felt out of control half the time and apprehensive of when it'd hit if he wasn't. Maybe, if he'd known he'd match with someone as awesome as Cas, he'd have wanted kids eventually, because the main reason he'd started with suppressants in the first place was because of how he'd legitimately started to worry he'd permanently hurt himself or someone else during a mood swing. Not because babies were the worst or anything.

Which of course, they totally were. Babies were weirdly sticky. Dean avoided them where possible.

Pacified with an excess of carbohydrate, Charlie was happily talking about the trail of virtual breadcrumbs she was scattering across the internet to try to covertly attract the Shadow Wing's attention, before they started working on the processing center plans again and trying to find out more about where Sam might be. The inaction was driving Dean nuts. He'd never realized before that he was an impatient person, given the fact he'd had so little control over the day-to-day of what'd passed for a life back home. But passively sitting and waiting on other, faceless online citizens to come to whatever kind of assistance they could was nothing like enough to stop the feeling that he was powerless to help Sam. He wanted to get out of there, kick in some doors, grab someone, _anyone,_ by the shirt and shake them until they told him where his brother was.

MacLeod's card was in his wallet, starting to go soft at the corners from how often he got it out to turn it over and over in his hands. He should just call. Get it over with. Charlie wanted him to call, even Cas seemed to think it might be a good idea, if meeting with MacLeod could give Dean any kind of information about Sam. The guy seemed like the slimiest of worms, with a nasty glint in his eye that seemed like the worm could turn out to be a viper if you looked at it wrong, but Dean was losing hope in Charlie's ability to help and he had to do something. _Anything._

But not while Cas was away. Dean grunted in annoyance as the bond got the better of him, and cursed, getting to his feet, heading to the bedroom to grab Cas's pillow before carrying it back. Letting himself fall onto the couch with the pillow in his arms, hugging the crap outta it as he mushed his face in to draw Castiel's scent into his lungs, not caring and barely noticing if Charlie was witnessing just how needy he was without his alpha. 

“Does it hurt? Like, physically?” 

Charlie's voice was gentle, so much softer than usual. Dean nosed into the pillow, mushing it around his face to get comfortable, keeping his eyes closed so at least a small part of his brain could pretend that Cas was actually there. “It's not painful. It's like a papercut, you know how you're always aware of one before it heals over. Like how the edges of the skin move against each other and it demands your attention. It's like that, feels wrong. Doesn't hurt but tough to ignore sometimes.”

“Yeesh, that sucks. Sorry. He'll be back soon.”

“I know. I'm fine, it's annoying more than anything. I have no clue how Cas is concentrating on boring numbers and meetings with this going on at the same time. I'm okay so long so I've got something distracting me.”

“Yeah?” Charlie closed the lid of her computer. “Maybe if we watched something? Would that help distract you?”

“I dunno. Like what?”

“I was thinking something dark and stupid to match our moods. Something about an ancient Sumerian text bound in human skin and inked in blood, if that sounds familiar and like something you'd be into.”

Dean cracked an eye open and started to smile up at Charlie from out of the little cave of comfort he'd made himself in Cas's pillow. “'I've got news for you, pal. You ain't leadin' but two things right now – Jack and shit, and Jack left town.' Yes, that would definitely help.”

“Rammin' speed!” Charlie produced a home-burned DVD from out of her bottomless bag, _Army of Darkness_ written across it in blue ink. “I always carry an emergency copy. Hail to the king, baby . . . I think you know what I'm saying.”

She held it out to Dean. He took it, spinning it between finger and thumb as he headed over to the TV, inserting the DVD and grabbing the remote. Plucking the quote Charlie was waiting for from out the back of his memory as she thoughtfully placed herself at the other end of the couch from Cas's pillow. 

“I do. 'Yo, she-bitch.'” He hefted the remote like he was cocking a shotgun, winked at her, and she laughed. “'Let's go.'”


End file.
